


dreamland

by billyscissors



Category: Hollywood (TV 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s Hollywood, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Based on Hollywood (2020), M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billyscissors/pseuds/billyscissors
Summary: They say Hollywood is the place where all your dreams come true, where you can finally be somebody and make a difference in the world, up on that big screen for all the world to see....They just never said how.Steve comes back from the war with a new purpose. He wants to be somebody, and he's determined to make his dreams come true in any way he can, even if that means he'll be burning under the limelight.--OR: a 1940s Hollywood Stevetony AU nobody asked for but I wrote anyway
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 27
Kudos: 38





	1. a dime a dozen

**Author's Note:**

> I finished watching Hollywood (it's on netflix and it's fantastic!) in two days, and I had this idea pop into my head just ten minutes into the show. Beware, there is a lot of spoilers for the show, so if you haven't watched it, I recommend it! But if you don't care, just proceed with caution. I'll be adding tags as the series goes on, and hopefully, I'll update this beauty regularly (let's say once a week)! 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> -Leeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to make his dreams come true.

* * *

They say Hollywood is the place where all your dreams come true, where you can finally be somebody and make a difference in the world, up on that big screen for all the world to see. 

...They just never said how. 

Steve came all the way from Brooklyn, New York. A city boy with big dreams, now revamped with the last vestiges of war eventually turning into cries of victory. D-Day came and went in a blur, but Steve still carried that dream of stardom, just like everybody else. The picture houses back in Brooklyn had been a place of refuge - dark, dingy places where no one cared what you looked like and who you liked, because everyone’s eyes were glued to the silver screen. 

He was just one out of about three billion, coming out of the war shaken like the next guy, but he figured he still had a chance to be somebody, and he wasn’t going to let that opportunity go to waste. So he packed up his meager belongings, stowed what little cash he had on his person, and took the first train to California, leaving his hometown in hopes to make his dreams come true out in the West.

Stepping foot onto California soil was an absolute dream, but lacking the acting skills and experience to even function in the fast-paced world of Hollywood was a nightmare. He’d eagerly stand at the gates of Stark Pictures with hundreds of other aspiring, bright-eyed actors, hoping to be chosen for some background role for one of the pictures being produced on the lot. It wasn’t much, but it was still something. He was going to take what he could get, and every last bit of exposure, no matter how minuscule, had the greatest importance in making it big in this town. 

Steve had already been going at it for a few months now, doing the same song and dance in front of the pearly gates of Stark Pictures. Nine o’clock, on the dot, and already a decent-sized crowd was beginning to form. He pushes through the crowd, hunched forward as if he were still that small, skinny kid from Brooklyn.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Hiya, Pete!” 

Peter catches his eye with a grin and gestures with a nod to stand beside him. “Hey, Stevie. Get over here.” 

Steve uses his bulk to his advantage to get a good spot next to his friend. He mutters a few more apologies to the people around him, but eventually makes it without a moment to spare. And the spot is a good one, right in front of the gates, where he can potentially catch the attention of studio executive and casting extraordinaire, Ms. Peggy Carter. He sidles up next to his friend, who looks far too bushy-tailed and eager for nine in the morning. Though, he’d be hypocrite, if he wasn’t excited himself. “Say, how long ago did you get here?” 

“About an hour. You know what they say, early bird gets the worm and such,” Peter replies with a shrug. 

“Sure.” Steve answers but is steam-rolled by yet another wave of Peter's excitement. The kid was a bit of a spaz, and he didn’t really know when to stop talking, but he was the only one who really gave Steve a rat’s ass, ever since the two met the first time he came to one of these castings.

“They’re still lensing the John Farrow picture with John Ladd and Donna Reed.”

“Lensing?” Steve questions, brows furrowing with confusion as he tears his eyes away from the doorsx that will practically seal his fate. 

“Lensing,” Peter parrots, in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s what they call filming in Hollywood-ese. You’ll get the hang of the lingo soon enough, pal. Billy Wilder is helming a picture with—“ 

“Helming?” 

“Directing.” Steve nods, though he isn’t paying all that much attention to what his friend is saying anymore. It’s all just a blur to him at this point. “Bing Crosby, Joan Fontaine, it’s gonna be boffo BO—“

He pauses to ask Peter what the hell he was talking about, but the guy is already barreling right through to the next thing. “—and she thinks we’re gonna start on the big ballroom scene next. Lots of extras. People standing by the punch bowl. Walking across the hallway. I think I got a real good shot at that one—“

“But what about a western or a war picture? Something like that. They making any of those?” Steve finally manages to interject through all of Peter's ramblings, but the kid lets out a put-upon sigh, as if Steve is the one inconveniencing him. 

“You don’t say ‘making a movie,’ Steve. You produce a movie. ‘Produce.’ You really gotta know the lingo, if you wanna make it big around here.” 

A smart-aleck comment like that certainly would’ve gotten his hackles rising, but Steve knew Peter only had good intentions. Probably. But before he can even get another word in edgewise, his friend’s shushing him like nobody’s business. A hush quickly falls over the crowd as Ms. Carter and her little row of assistants come out through the doors. 

The click of her heels sound menacing against the tarmac, and her steely-gaze certainly leaves no room for fucking around. It‘s clear that Peggy Carter is not a woman to mess with. 

“Okay, listen up.” The sharp British accent cuts through the silence like a knife. “I am only going to say this once and only once. Rule number one, do not look at the camera. Rule number two, do not talk to the director. In fact, a good rule of thumb is to not talk at all. Rule number three, if you see a platter of food on the sound stage, do not eat it. It is not for you, it is for the actors and the crew. If you see food on the set, do not eat that. That is a prop.” 

She sighs and looks down at the clipboard in her hands, flipping to the second page. “Now we have that out of the way. Today, we’re lensing a war pic. Seven were saved, where the plane goes down, and a bunch of passengers flail around in the water and then die, okay?”

Ms. Carter eyes the crowd just as it begins to roar with excitement. Eager actors begin to flail their arms in the air, Peter included, just hoping they’d be picked by the woman’s eagle eyes out of the hundred lined up in front of these gates.

Steve feels the sweat build on the back of his neck—and not from the Los Angeles heat—as she begins to pick and choose the extras to play the parts. Each finger that doesn’t point to him is another nail being hammered down onto the coffin where his hopes and dreams will eventually be laid to rest. There’s one last extra that needs to be chosen, and he can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He stands there, smiling and posturing quite a bit, as he skillfully hides the agony he’s feeling behind his eyes. 

“...and you.” 

He wants to believe that finger is pointing at him, but he knows it isn’t. He can believe, just for a moment, that he was chosen to be one of the lucky seven to flail around in the background of a war picture. He can believe that it wasn’t Peter. But a moment like that passes by in an instant, and he can’t keep kidding himself anymore. The smile he gives his friend doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He is proud of him, like any friend should be, but it’s still a real stab to the chest watching Peter as he heads past the gates. 

Ms. Carter’s clipped voice brings him back to the present. “Alright, thank you very much. That’s it for today. See you all bright and early tomorrow.” 

But Steve was tired of waiting for tomorrow. He’d been waiting for tomorrow for the past few months. As the crowds begin to disperse to try again the next morning, he instead, races to the now closed gates. The guards behind them stare him down, hands at the ready with their batons, but he doesn’t cower away. 

“Excuse me, Ms. Carter.” 

The studio’s casting director stops in her tracks and turns to face him, an unimpressed look already appearing on her face as she stares at him with her steely-gaze. It almost makes Steve falter, but he doesn’t. 

“And who might you be?” She lifts an eyebrow, and he wants to cower under her hardened gaze. But he was a captain, goddammit. He wasn’t going to let no boss lady make him lose his footing. 

“Steve Rogers, ma’am. I think I’d be great in your war picture. The drowning scene? You see, I fought in Azzano.” He smiles with a mouth that’ll melt butter. He can just feel like this was his moment, his dreams finally coming to life.

“Oh, you had training?”

“Yes, ma’am. Fort Lehigh, Virginia.”

“No, I mean acting training. You got any of that?” Ms. Carter is clearly unimpressed with him, and it takes a lot out of him not to fall to his knees and start begging. 

“Well. Er, no—” 

“A good-looking kid like you, you think you can just show up and poof, you’re a movie star, huh?” She smirks, but it’s the kind of condescending look that doesn’t mean anything good. “Well, that’s not how it works.

“A pretty face, but no training.” She shakes her head and chuckles. “You’re a dime a dozen, kid.” 

Steve can only watch as Peggy Carter and her assistants retreat inside. He wants to be angry, and he can beg all he wants, but he knows he can’t afford to. Not when he only has a handful of dollars to his name. He turns away, defeated, as he resigns himself to yet another day of waiting for tomorrow. 

* * *

_You’re a dime a dozen, kid._

Steve scoffs as he downs his glass of bourbon. The burn feels nice down his throat, and there isn’t anything else stopping him from ordering another. So he does. The bartender looks at him as he pours him another two fingers of bourbon into his glass, and he can tell by just the way he’s staring, that the man feels sorry for him. He takes another drag from his cigarette. 

“Look, first breaks are tough in this town. Don’t beat yourself up.” They’re kind words from a stranger, but they don’t really have any use to him. He can’t help but let Ms. Carter’s words fill his mind instead. He thought he had a shot at this business. He had no experience, but he took the time to practice. It wasn’t much, but it still should’ve counted for something. 

Maybe Hollywood just wasn’t for him. He should’ve stayed home, worked at the factory like the other folks coming back from the war. But that was the kind of life he tried to run away from. He didn’t want to waste away, doing nothing until the day he died. 

That’s why he went all the way to California in the first place, isn’t it? 

He sighs heavily and sits up, ready to head home to privately wallow in his misery, back in his shoebox of an apartment. He pats down his pockets for his wallet, but he’s soon stopped by the bartender. “No, no, no. S’already taken care of.”

Steve only stares, baffled, and follows the bartender’s line of sight to another man sitting at the other end of the bar. He’s idly smoking a cigar, and the air around him is hazy, like he’s been smoking for awhile. But what strikes Steve the most is his piercing gaze, which digs right into his soul. It’s a little unsettling. 

The man grins and shoots him a wink, a stream of smoke falling from his lips as he exhales. 

Steve beckons the bartender with a snap and a crooked finger and leans over the counter. “You know what he wants?” 

The bartender glances at the mysterious man and shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe he thought you looked a little thirsty.” He gives him a look that Steve doesn’t know what to make of, but it stirs something inside of him that he can’t quite place. 

As the bartender leaves to attend to the other patrons at the bar, Steve steals another glance at the mystery man, and when he catches his eye, he forces himself to look away again. He can feel the man’s shoulders vibrate with laughter, and his face flushes slightly with warmth. He tosses back the rest of his drink and stands, gathering up his belongings, ready to leave, but the man’s staring at him again, and the look on his face pins him to the spot. His hackles begin to rise, and Steve storms over to the man, demanding answers.

“What the hell do you want?” 

The man coolly meets his fiery gaze. “I’m only doing my part to thank you for your service. You served, didn’t you?” 

Steve deflates, but he’s still on the defensive. His frown deepens. “How did you—”

“I know a soldier when I see one. Where’d you fight?”

He hesitates. “Azzano.”

“Azzano!” The man chuckles, taking a pull from his cigar. “Azzano was rough.” He extends a hand in Steve’s direction. 

“Sam.” 

He stares at the hand, and another moment passes before he finally takes it. 

“Steve.” 

A grin stretches across Sam’s face, and it’s clear from the lines upon it, that he’s a smiler. “Nice to meet you, Steve. Come on. Sit down. You don’t gotta run away from me.” He gestures to the seat next to him, and Steve waits a beat before sitting down. Sam orders them another round of drinks, and the bartender slides over two fresh glasses of bourbon in their direction. 

“I wanted to fight, you know. Tried to enlist and everything, but they wouldn’t take me,” Sam says, unrprovoked. 

Just as he picks up his glass to take a sip, Steve sends him a questioning look that Sam promptly answers. “Said my cock was too big.”

Steve suddenly chokes on his drink and starts coughing, the burn in his throat highly unpleasant.

“Yeah, surprised me too. I mean, it’s big.” Sam holds up his arm, his hand balled into a fist. “Twelve inches, soup to nuts, and not floppy either.” He slams his fist to the counter, and Steve jumps in surprise. “I get hard as a fucking rock.” 

Steve almost looks terrified as Sam shakes a fist at him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the hell? Are you for real? What the fuck you talkin’ about?” 

Sam turns to look at him. “I got a very big dick.” 

“No, I…” He coughs again to clear his throat, running nervous fingers through his hair. “I got that. I’m just wondering why. Why are you… coming up to a stranger in a bar, talking about how big your cock is?” 

“Because you asked me,” Sam answers, looking affronted at such a question. 

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Oh, did I? That doesn’t sound like me.” 

Sam sighs, waving his cigar-wielding hand around. “Look, all I’m saying is I know a hard-luck fella when I sees one. I used to be right where you are. I used to be down on my luck, worrying about when I’ll be getting my next paycheck… I’m set for life now. But I’ve been where you are, wondering what my life was gonna mean.” 

Steve only gets more confused, and he isn’t quite sure if he should be in on Sam’s secret or not—if it is a secret at all. “What do you want?”

Sam leans in close, and Steve can see the gap between his teeth when he smiles. He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t really like the way Sam’s looking at him. “Lemme cut to the chase, Steve. I run a service station. And business is booming!” 

“Yeah. Okay, and?”

“ _And_ , I could use a good-looking fella like yourself pumping gas.” 

“Why do you need someone good-looking to pump gas?” Steve lights up another cigarette, just so he can give his hands something to do. 

“I don’t think you’re getting it, Stevie boy. You see, my gas station specializes in good-looking attendants. It’s my corner of the market. It’s why we do good business. This is Hollywood, kid! It’s what people want. It’s why they left their cow towns where they grew up. They don’t want no fatso looking under their hood, sweat dripping all over their bodies, grease under their fingernails.” Sam shakes his head, inhaling another breath of thick, Cuban smoke. 

“It’s an intimate act, if you think about it, and get this…”

Steve leans in in interest and watches as Sam gets up, only to pull a big wad of cash from his back pocket. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of green. 

“...They’ll tip big for it.” 

He’s colored impressed when Sam tosses a few bills onto the counter for the bartender to snatch right up. It’s an amount that he knows can pay for their drinks double over. 

“What I offer is a vision of a new America,” Sam drawls, waving a hand in the air. “The America that you fought for.” He shoves a pointer finger in Steve’s face, and it’s suddenly a bastardized version of his morning at Stark Pictures. But this time, he’s the chosen one. 

Steve shares a grin with Sam and takes a moment to think about it, but it’s a lot to ask from a guy you just met. He stands, jacket in hand, and starts making his way over to the exit. “Thanks for the offer, but no.” 

Sam doesn’t look disappointed. In fact, his face reads like he knew what Steve was going to say all along. “Citrus and Normandie, if you change your mind. Golden Tip Gas.” 

* * *

Days later, he’s at Stark Pictures again, standing amongst a swarm of the same eager people striving for the same exact shot as everybody else. Peter is next to him, spouting excited movie jargon, like he always did. He can barely register a word, because all he can think about is knowing his chance for stardom just has to be now. He’s determined that this day won’t end like all the others. He’ll get the part, do whatever shit he has to do in the background of some picture, and then, he’ll finally be noticed by some studio executive, who won’t have any other choice than to give him a chance.

But no matter how many times he can manifest this all into existence, Ms. Carter can end his dream in a second. She’ll line a finger and pull the trigger, without even an ounce of remorse. 

And that’s exactly what happened. 

“Better luck next time, buddy.” Peter pats him on the shoulder, and his excitement overrides the apologetic tone he was probably going for. Steve knows he’s just being nice about it for his sake. 

He waited for tomorrow, and he could probably wait some more. 

Later, Steve only limits himself to one drink at the bar, before he heads back to his apartment. He notices, this time, that no one is there to buy him a drink or talk him into working at a service station.

When he makes it home that evening, he flicks the light switch, but it takes him a moment to get out of his head to notice that he’d been walking in the dark. He heaves out of a sigh, too tired to even be angry—even though it was his own fault for not paying the electricity bill on time—and uses his lighter to find the candles he was sure he stowed away in one of the drawers in the kitchen. He sets them down in areas all over his apartment and lights them up, one by one. 

He takes a shower to wash off the grime of the day and stays in there longer than he should. Only the impending doom of his water bill gets him out from under the showerhead. There, illuminated by the glow of the candlelight in the bathroom, he wipes the fog away from the glass and stares at his reflection in the dingy mirror. 

“Hollywood’s not all it’s cracked up to be, huh, Rogers?” 

He sighs, blowing out the candles along the way towards his bedroom, until he’s lying in bed in the darkness. He stares up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against his stomach as he contemplates where to go from there. He was quickly running out of money, and it won’t be long before he gets kicked out of this apartment. He was strapped for cash, and Stark Pictures didn’t seem like it was going to hire him for background work anytime soon. 

But then he remembers a certain conversation from a few days ago, and he figures, why the hell not? 

What else did he have to lose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are like crack to me <3 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://goldentipjack.tumblr.com/)!


	2. fill 'er up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve joins the Golden Tip family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Dreamland!
> 
> I'm posting this on Thursday instead of when I initially intended (Saturday) because I already have a few chapters in my arsenal, and I'm just so excited to get this story on the road. It's the same drill as before, beware of spoilers and proceed with caution. 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> -Leeks

“There he is.” 

The voice is warm and friendly, and it’s the first thing Steve hears when he steps out of the employee bathroom. He had been a little embarrassed when he came to Sam asking for a job at the Golden Tip, but Sam was a good sport about it. Even said he’d been expecting him to eventually come anyway. So here he was, clad in the gas station’s uniform—yellow cap placed jauntily atop his head, black slacks and a tie to match—ready for his first day on the job. 

He nervously tugs at his belt and offers Sam a half-assed salute as he meets him halfway. Sam claps him on the shoulder and smiles wide. “Kid, I gotta tell you, you look fantastic.” He gives Steve a thorough onceover, his smile growing with every inch of perfection he sees. “Handsome, young, brimming with optimism. And, oh, by the way, you’re clean, yeah? No venereal diseases?”

“Okay, uh—” Steve furrows his brow. “What, what do you mean? What are you talking about?” 

Sam laughs. Of course, he’d end up picking up someone as innocent as this kid right here. “Look, Stevie, this town is all about dreams, right? And some of my customers don’t just come here for gas. They have, uh—” He waves a hand in the air in search of the words. “—fantasies and desires.

“And for them, it ain’t enough to watch a fantasy up on the big screen. They want something more, more tangible for themselves, and I’m the one who can provide that for them.” He looks at Steve. “You get what I’m saying, right?” 

“No, I… I have no idea what you’re saying, Sam,” Steve says, confused by the roundabout way Sam was talking. 

“Alright, alright. Lemme explain it to you, nice and slow. You see, some of them say a secret code word. You get in the car with them. Have a drink or two, maybe, or sometimes…” Sam’s eyes flicker down to Steve’s belt. “...sometimes, you gotta service ‘em.” 

It’s then when it finally clicks in Steve’s brain, and he’s suddenly thrown off his balance, as if somebody pulled the rug right out from underneath him. “You… you gotta be kidding me.” 

Sam snorts. “What? You don’t like women?” 

“What, I... I like women fine,” he sputters, completely out of his element. His face is warm, and his palms are a little clammy. And since when did it get so hot? 

“I’m sure you could be a little more convincing than that, kid. Men, then.” Sam easily changes gears without batting an eye, and when Steve doesn’t say a word, he knows he hit the jackpot. He can feel the boy’s face flaming all the way from here. “So you can be swayed in both directions. What’s the problem? You a virgin?” 

“What’s the problem—” Steve comes in close, voice lowering to a hiss. He almost wants to grab the front of Sam’s shirt and throttle him a bit, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hands, miraculously, pinned to his sides. “I didn’t sign up to turn tricks in broad daylight, Sam.” 

“Ah, I see, okay. Listen here, Steve. We’re a seedy institution, that’s true, I admit that. But you and I both know you came to me for a reason, and that reason is that you don’t got squat. I told you. I’ve been in your shoes, so I know where you’ve been.”

“No. No, no, no. I can’t do this, Sam. I came here to be in pictures. I’m gonna be a movie star.” Steve frowns at the sound of Sam’s laughter. “This, this is not for me. I appreciate what you’re doing here, but look, you hired me to pump gas, I’ll pump gas. Anything else, forget it.” He starts to leave so he can do his job minus the whole servicing hoopla he’s being roped into, but Sam stops in his tracks.

“All right, but you’ll be missing out on a hundred bucks.” 

Steve slowly turns around, and he meets the piercing gaze of one Sam Wilson. He stares and stares, but Sam still does not give. 

“My customers pay twice that, and you and me, we split, 50-50.” 

He hears the ding of a bell overhead, followed by the roar of an engine lowering to a gentle purr. Both of them turn to see a black car with white detailing slowly pulling into the service station.

“Oh, here’s one right here for you.” Sam’s lips curl into a smirk when he recognizes the person in the driver’s seat. “Steve, today is your lucky day. And this one’s special, take it from me.” He pats the blond once, twice on the cheek and gives him a gentle shove towards the car. 

Steve looks back over his shoulder at Sam, who only smiles at him encouragingly. “I don’t know, Sam.”

“A hundred bucks, Stevie. Or do you want me to give it to the other guys?” 

He pauses, weighing his options. A hundred dollars sure is a lot of money. 

“ _ Fuck me _ ,” he sighs in resignation and starts making his way over. 

“Attaboy! You’re gonna do great!”

He shoots a glare at Sam, his ridiculously big smile rubbing him the wrong way. “Shut up.” 

“Let me know how it goes.” 

* * *

“Fill ‘er up?” 

A smile, bounded by a meticulously trimmed mustache, is turned in his direction. He can’t see the man’s eyes, but he knows they’re piercing behind the pair of sunglasses he wore. “I wanna go to Dreamland,” the man says in a soft timbre, though there’s an undercurrent of excitement right beneath it. 

It’s an easy hundred dollars. He can do this. “Okay.” Steve rounds the front of the car and slides into the passenger seat. 

“Now, don’t get too excited.” The man’s laughter is soft as he puts the car into gear. He looks over at Steve and grins as he gives the blond a smooth onceover. “Oh, yeah. You’ll do nicely.” 

The man pulls out of the station and begins to drive along the boulevard, while Steve’s trying his best to remain calm. When they stop at the red light, the man raises an eyebrow at the service station boy. 

“Kid, you alright?” 

Steve looks over at the man and nods jerkily. “I… yes. I’m fine.” 

“Well, you look like you’re about to have a conniption over there. So lemme ask again. You alright?” 

Steve heaves out a sigh and trains his eyes on the leather detailing of the car’s interior. The red and gold make a pretty combination. “Okay. No. Not really. I don’t… I’ve never done this before.” 

“Been with a man?”

The blond hesitates for a moment and looks around to see if anyone could hear them (you never know who’s listening). Eventually, he shakes his head, and his cheeks begin to turn a pretty pink. His mind flashes to dark theaters and even darker alleyways—a charming smile, dark hair swept up into a perfect coif, nice, strong hands, and a piercing stormy-eyed stare. He squeaks, roughly falling back down to the present, his fingers digging into the supple leather under his hands. “No, I’ve done…  _ that _ . I just… I don’t have sex with strangers.” 

“Oh, if that’s your only problem. We can fix that right away… Steve, is it? I’m Tony. See? Now, we’re not strangers anymore. Magically fixed. Ta-da.” Tony reaches over to pick up Steve’s hand and give him an exaggeration of a handshake, earning him a soft laugh. He glances over at the blond, dark sunglasses obscuring a warm gaze that surely can rival the sun shining overhead, and smiles. 

The rest of the drive didn’t take too long, but Steve had to wonder why Tony chose the Beverly Hills Hotel of all places to do this. “Don’t you think this a little too… public for this sort of thing?” Steve rushes to follow the man as he briskly makes his way towards the entrance. “You’re not too nervous about being recognized?” 

“Where’s the thrill in doing anything private?” And there’s Tony’s laugh again. “Come. I got us a room.” 

Steve looks around in interest. He’d never been to a place as fancy as this. Clearly, Tony has enough money and power that no one even spares them a glance as they make their way through the lobby that is bustling with activity. And Steve isn’t one to complain, so he follows while Tony leads, like an obedient puppy follows its master. 

He is eventually led into a room as extravagant as the lobby. The sheer size of it could fit his small apartment thrice over. 

“Why don’t you relax, hm?” Tony says as he brings Steve over to a set of furniture that surely costs more than his entire life. “Bourbon, all right with you?” 

“Sure. Neat.” 

Tony grins. “A man after my own heart.” He goes ahead and pours him a drink. Then, he hands it over to Steve, who appears to have eventually managed to sit pretty and comfortable in one of the chairs. He slides a hand over the broad line of Steve’s shoulders and feels the tension slowly bleed out of them. “I’ll be right back. I need to freshen up.” 

Steve can only nod as he takes a sip of his drink to calm his wildly beating heart. He watches as Tony disappears into the next room, and he takes a moment, now that he’s alone, to reassess everything that led him to this point of his life. One moment, he’s a naive actor hoping to make it in the business of Hollywood, and the next, he’s just as naive but now getting ready to go down on his knees for some extra cash. 

“You think too much, you know that?” 

He startles out of his daze when he hears Tony approaching him from behind. He turns, and his mouth is suddenly parched at the sight that greets him. The man had stripped out of his three-piece suit and replaced it with a robe that appeared to look like it had been spun from rubies and gold. The deep scarlet of the fabric complemented the rich expanse of rich, tanned skin that peeked from underneath his collar. He could only imagine what he was to find if only he just peeled back those layers—

Tony’s laughing, but it’s soft and fond. “Are you back from your trip to space?” 

Steve snaps his attention to Tony’s grinning face, and he flushes with embarrassment from being caught staring. 

“I don’t mind the staring, sweetheart. I like having your lovely blue eyes on me. Call me a narcissist, but I didn’t change into this get-up for nothing.” He moves with flourish to the dry bar, the tails of his robe flowing behind him like wings, and fixes himself a drink. “Since we’re not trying to be strangers anymore, how long have you been here?” 

Once Tony is situated with a nicely poured glass of bourbon, he sinks into the loveseat across from Steve. He grins around the rim of his glass when he notices the brief moment in which this darling hunk of a blond looks down at his watch to check the time. Oh, bless him. 

“Oh, you— you mean in Los Angeles. Just a couple of months. I’m from New York, originally.” 

Tony lifts an eyebrow and stretches out on the loveseat. “Let me guess… you came here to be a movie star.”

“How did you know?” Steve smiles, beatific and looking like the poster boy for innocence. 

“Oh, please. A boy like you, looking as innocent as you do, doesn’t come all the way to Hollywood from the other side of the country to just turn tricks. I know the game. I’ve been playing it longer than you, blondie. And I was just like you, you know. I was ready to take on the whole world as Hollywood’s biggest star.” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound right in Steve’s ears. 

“But then, someone caught wind of my… less-than-pure decencies, said they saw me canoodling with a boy down at the molly houses, and I was suddenly blacklisted from every production house in the city. But my father, and he’s a very powerful man, you see, he had his fingers dipped in every institution in Southern California, so the story was swiped and everybody forgot about it like yesterday’s news. I don’t act, not anymore, but let’s just say, out of everything that happened, I still got a promotion.”

Tony slides a finger along the rim of his glass, the dark, amber liquid sloshing inside of it, a mirthless grin on his face. “You and I both know, the world ain’t ready for folks like us. That’s why we keep in the shadows. You may not know it yet, Steve, but the shadows might end up being the place where you belong.” 

His eyes, brown and warm, turn their attention to Steve, and he smiles something sad. “I apologize for putting a damper on the mood. I admit, I was hoping I’d have your cock down my throat by now, but look at me, waxing poetry about dismal truths. I’m sure you weren’t expecting any of that.” He huffs out a laugh, swirling the last few dregs of his drink.

Steve chuckles weakly. “No, not really.” 

“You’re being a real good sport about it, I gotta say.” 

“Well, after you come out of a war. Nothing seems so dark after that.” 

“You served?” Tony’s eyes flicker with interest. 

“Yeah. Fought in Azzano. You?”

“I didn’t fight, no." He shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink. "Dear ol’ dad made it so. He had sway with the U.S. Military’s technology department. And since I couldn’t act and someone needed to keep a close eye on me lest I ended up tarnishing my old man’s reputation again, I got shoved into the backwash of weapons manufacturing.” Tony grins in amusement when he sees how surprised Steve is. “What, you don’t think I’m smart enough for that?”

“What, no. I—”

Tony tosses his head back and laughs, exposing the long line of his neck that Steve definitely doesn’t point his gaze to. “It’s okay, Steve.” 

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

“Really. It’s alright,” he reassures him with a smile. “I’ve been surprising people throughout my entire career—or, what’s left of it, anyway. And if you even try to apologize, I suggest you shut the hell up right now.” 

With the way Tony is smiling at him, Steve doesn’t really know what to think. He feels hot under the collar, and it takes a lot for him not to start tugging at it nervously. 

Tony looks at Steve. Really looks at him. His smile grows, ever so slowly, across his face. “You know.” A long pause, and Steve begins to squirm under his gaze. He stands and makes his way over to Steve. He lifts a leg and settles himself on the blond’s lap, his arms draped over his shoulders. He leans in close, his breath hot against Steve’s ear. 

“Maybe… Maybe Hollywood just needs a little bit of innocence.” 

Steve’s breath hitches and looks up at Tony. At this angle, he can practically feel the power the man possesses, and he’s not so keen on disobeying a man who seems like he has the whole world in the palm of his hand. 

Tony’s voice is soft and tender when it hits his ear, and Steve suppresses a shiver just from the sound of it. “I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” 

Steve releases a shaky breath as he moves his hands to rest on Tony’s hips. He’s moving into dangerous territory now. He hadn’t touched another fella since… since Bucky, and even then, sex had started to feel a bit lackluster after he came back from the war. But here, with Tony on his lap and bedroom eyes sparkling with interest, it seemed as though his arousal was starting to wake up from a long-awaited slumber.

“Can I ask you something? Just ‘cause you’ve already been through it.” Steve breaks the tension, his nerves speaking up before he can even stop himself. 

“Sure. Go ahead, sweetheart.” 

“You think I got what it takes to make it in this town?” he asked, biting his lip. 

Tony reaches over to gently run his thumb along the blond’s lower lip and shrugs. “Who’s to say? But what I do know, Steve, is that you got a strong light inside you.” He runs a finger down the hills of his chest. He catches his eye and offers him an encouraging smile. “Take this old man out of the shadows, and shine that light on me… 

“Even if it is a lie.” 

Steve exhales shakily and smirks slightly. “Okay,” he whispers as he slowly leans in. He bridges the gap between them, and their lips meet. The kiss starts soft, but the urgency steadily grows now that they both know what the other tastes like. He can taste the bourbon on his tongue, the cigarettes he’s smoked, and then a hint of something sweet. It’s an intoxicating mix of flavours he can’t seem to get another of. 

Steve’s head falls back as a pair of lips make their way down his throat. He doesn’t stop Tony when he loosens his tie and undoes the first top buttons of his shirt, or when he begins to kiss a trail along every inch of skin that is revealed when he peels back the crisp white fabric. Tony’s lips are hot and wet against his skin, and Steve can’t conceal the soft groan that escapes his mouth. The heat on his skin leaves just for a moment, and his brain belatedly makes the connection that Tony’s kissing him. He sighs into his mouth, suckling gently on bruised lips. His hands tighten on his hips, as if he doesn’t have the authority to touch him anywhere else, but Tony is quick to grab him by the wrist and bring a hand to rest on the curve of his ass. 

“Touch me,” Tony whispers as he picks up his hips to slowly grind against Steve’s, and he groans softly when Steve squeezes his ass. He laughs breathily. “Come on, soldier. You gotta give me something more to work with.” 

Tony’s voice sparks something hot and heavy in the pit of his belly, and it burns him from the inside out. With one hand glued to his backside, Steve slides the other up the smooth skin of Tony’s thigh, where it eventually settles close to the throbbing heat between his legs. Steve notices rather quickly that the other man isn’t wearing any underwear beneath the silky fabric of his robe, and it sends a wave of arousal straight to his groin. 

Tony pauses in his mutilation of Steve’s neck and pulls away with a knowing grin. He tugs at the belt and slowly divest himself of his robe. His tanned skin goes on for miles with every inch of fabric that gives way, and Steve can’t seem to tear his eyes away. 

“You like what you see, soldier?” The brunet’s laugh sounds too far away as Steve watches the fabric fall from Tony’s shoulders. But then, Tony slides off of the blond’s lap, and the robe immediately falls into a scarlet-gold heap on the floor. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Steve breathes like he’d been punched in the gut, and it earns him another bout of laughter that fuels the fire running through his veins. 

But instead of returning to his previous position, perched pretty on Steve’s lap, Tony steals a cushion from the loveseat across the way and sinks to the floor with the cushion beneath his knees. 

Steve inhales sharply at the sight, and his grip tightens around the armrests. 

It’s clear that Tony is amused by his reactions. “You just keep sitting there and be pretty. Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.” 

The burn in his stomach only fires up from there, and they haven’t even done anything yet. He watches, eyes darkened with aoursal, as Tony quickly undoes his pants, only just fumbling slightly with the fly. 

Tony licks his lips and eagerly mouths along Steve’s length through his briefs, and Steve stifles a groan. The blond’s musk fills his nose, and he takes a brief moment to breathe it all in. He peers up at Steve through his lashes and smirks as he finally takes his cock out from his underwear. He presses the tip to his lips and tastes the saltiness on his tongue. Slowly, he pushes forward, and Steve stares as his cock disappears into Tony’s mouth. Letting his head fall backwards, his eyes slip shut. 

“Oh…  _ fuck _ .” 

Steve can almost feel Tony’s smirk around his cock.

Oh, fuck, indeed. 

* * *

The next morning, Steve takes a cab to the Golden Tip from the Beverly Hills Hotel, where he spent the night in a bed that was a lot more expensive than anything he ever owned. Tony had offered to give him a ride, but it seemed a bit half-hearted, and not at all genuine, when the brunet could barely keep his eyes open. He did learn that Tony was a maniac in the sheets as well as an avid snuggler, both of which Steve was not opposed to. 

His shirt is a bit rumpled, and he may have forgotten to comb back a strand or two of hair, but he’s refreshed after a hot shower (for once) and a hundred dollars richer.

The ride back to work got him thinking about his night with Tony. He was a real nice fella, and it wasn’t because he had all this money to throw around. He was funny, smart, and knew how to throw a wisecrack or two. And it didn’t hurt that the man was easy on the eyes, and his ass was a marvel in and of itself. He came a whopping four times that evening—once, on the settee with his cock in Tony’s mouth, while the other three times followed on separate occassions on the sofa, against the wall, and eventually, in bed. He’d never had an experience so mind-blowing, being inside of someone as wild as Tony. It unveiled an inherent need that had been buried since the war, and Steve only wanted more. 

“So, how did it go?” 

Steve pays the cabbie with money Tony insisted that he have (“as a tip,” he said) and heads over to Sam, the man’s eyes shining with a knowing glint. He shrugs, keeping his lips shut tight. “He’s nice.” 

“He’s  _ nice _ ,” Sam shoots back incredulously. “You’re telling me… you spent a night with Eddie Carbonell, and all you can say is that he’s nice? What did you do, swap bedtime stories?” 

Steve halts in his step and furrows his brow in confusion. “What? Who’s Eddie Carbonell?” 

Sam can only stare at this kid as if he had just grown two heads overnight. “Jesus Christ, kid. Who’s Eddie Carbonell?  _ Who’s Eddie Carbonell,  _ he says. Have you been living under a rock this whole goddamn time? See, he’s kind of a legend in this town. He works his ass off to do some pictures, gets caught doing some… illicit activities. Then all of a sudden, he gets a clean slate, and  _ bam _ , he’s got a gig working at Stark Pictures, like nothing happened.” 

The frown on Steve’s face only deepens. Eddie Carbonell’s story sure lines up with the one Tony told him the evening before, but that didn’t have to mean anything. “But I don’t understand. That, that can’t be Eddie Carbonell, or whoever the hell you're talking about.” 

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, listen. I just—” 

Sam looks to the sky and utters a prayer for  _ the Lord to give him some strength. _ “You know what? I can’t even look at you right now. Just do your job and go be stupid somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not anywhere near me.” He flaps a dismissive hand in Steve’s general direction and goes to disappear into his office, soft mutterings about  _ dumb white boys _ following his wake. And Steve just stands here, unable to wrap his mind around what just happened and who the hell this Eddie Carbonell is. 

The bell dings before Steve can think about it any longer. And with a sigh and a clench to his jaw, he straightens his cap and makes his way over to the car that comes rolling to a stop at the gas pump. 

He’s still got a job to do. He’ll just have to figure things out later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are like crack to me <3 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://goldentipjack.tumblr.com/)!


	3. sexually ambidextrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets the break he deserves and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back in Dreamland with another chapter. I really stuck with the weekly postings this time, even though I'm just itching to dump everything I've written so far. I've only scratched the surface with this fic, and this chapter just barely finishes the first episode of the series. We're going to see some more familiar faces, and I'm really challenging myself to add a bunch of characters from the MCU. I've got a lot of exciting things in store with this fic, so stay tuned!
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> -Leeks

The days begin to meld into each other, and his time at the service station starts becoming a routine, like any other old job. Time that had been wasted at the gates of Stark Pictures is now time well-spent at the Golden Tip (but he’s still too stubborn to let his dream go that easily). 

Steve notices rather quickly that Tony and his beautiful car haven’t swung by the station, even on his days off, and he isn’t too sure if he should be disappointed or not. He was hoping that the man would show up, and Steve would hop into his car, ask his questions, and then maybe, he wouldn’t be so riled up about this Eddie Carbonell fella anymore. He doesn’t ask Sam any questions about it, either, wanting to hear it from the man himself, but he never gets the chance to, since Tony never ends up showing up. 

It’s like that for the next couple weeks, and the following week after that seems like it won’t be any different. It starts off like any other. The station’s employees are all huddled into a circle with Sam handing out their paychecks, the envelopes thick with their share of the past week’s earnings. 

“There you go, Steve. Buffalo Bruce, Mighty Theo, Cocky Clint, Slippery Scott, Lucky Luke, and uh, Wailin’ Wade. All right, fellas, let’s make it another great week!” 

The boys chime in with a chorus of ‘Yes, sir’s, and they break off into separate directions to begin their day. It doesn’t take long before the first few cars arrive for some servicing. 

Since his first night with Tony, Steve started to lose himself to the rhythm of things at the service station. He still thinks about him, every now and then, about how he could possibly be some Eddie Carbonell fella he knows nothing about, but when he’s alone, naked in bed and cock in hand, all his thoughts about Tony center around his hot mouth and the way it felt being inside of him. He quickly gets used to the demure smiles and chesire grins flashed in his direction (without blushing all that much anymore), and once a lady or some fella utters that special code word, he is off to do their bidding. He usually comes back to the station mostly unscathed and very satisified, so this whole servicing situation was turning out to be not as bad as he thought. The pay’s great, and if he plays his cards right, he’ll probably have enough cash to get rid of his current apartment and find something better. So he figures, what’s the harm in doing what he signed up for anyhow? 

It’s around noon when the bell dings in succession, and one after the other, the boys begin to get into their respective cars and drive off to Dreamland with their first lay of the day. 

Steve’s lined up to leave with a lady whose ruby red lips match the fiery red of her hair, and he grins, nice and easy. She looks vaguely familiar, but he doesn’t think too much about that. “So, what’ll it be?” he asks, leaning against the car door. 

Her lips stretch into a demure smile. “Take me to Dreamland, big guy.” 

“Sure thing, miss. I’m Steve.” Steve tips his cap and hops into the passenger seat, all boyish and confident.

“Natasha.”

“Well, all right, Natasha. Lead the way.” 

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride, and Steve doesn’t mind it, nor does Natasha. She seems like the kind of gal to keep things to herself, and he figures it’s a pretty good skill to have in this town. 

They arrive at a simple motel, and Natasha leads the way to a room, just as simple. She sits down on the edge of the bed, crosses one leg over the other, and smirks. 

“Strip. I need to know what I’m working with.”

And who was Steve to not oblige with a simple request? He untucks his shirt from his slacks and unbuttons it with deft hands, slipping it off his shoulders and letting it flutter to the ground. He then unfastens his belt and shoves his pants down his legs once he’s made quick work of his button and fly. He tugs off his undershirt next, and left in only his briefs, Natasha only quirks an eyebrow at the sight, her gaze flickering down to his groin. It’s all he needs to go ahead and drop trou.

Her eyebrows inch towards her hairline when she finally sees him, uncut, thick, and a nice seven inches. 

“Impressive.”

Steve flashes her a grin. “Thanks, miss.”

Natasha stands and makes her way over to the blond. She wraps a manicured hand around his cock and gives it a teasing tug. “I thought I told you to call me Natasha.” 

And over the next couple of hours, Steve sure does learn a lot about her. He learns that she’s quite flexible, and he finds that out firsthand when she’s practically folded in half as he’s fucking into her. She looks like the kind of woman to keep things to herself, but she’s loud where it counts. She also likes it rough, if the scratches on his back are anything to go by, which he only notices when he takes a moment while she’s in the shower to go check why his back was stinging so much in the vanity mirror. 

It’s nearing the end of their allotted time together. A few hours fly by rather quickly when you’re throwing your time away to have sex with a stranger for some extra cash. Steve’s sitting in a chair, dressed and lacing up his boots, when Natasha walks out of the bathroom, showered and refreshed, with a cloud of steam following her. She’s only wearing a towel, but boy, do her curves stand out, and Steve can’t help but take a brief moment to appreciate them. 

“Hmm… you’re really good at that, you know?” she says with a purr and that same coy smile she always seems to wear. She makes her way over to the vanity to replace the earrings she took off earlier, and she eyes his reflection in the mirror. “So is this what you do, full time?”

Steve is still a little winded when he speaks, his cheeks a bit flushed and his hair slightly out of place. “No, uh, just something to make ends meet—“ 

He hesitates and uses that beat of silence to finish tying the knot of his shoelace. “—I’m an actor, actually.” 

Natasha turns to face him, an amused grin playing on her lips. “Oh, really? ‘Cause I’m in casting.” 

Steve falls back to his seat and stares at the woman in disbelief. And there goes yet another thing he learns about her. “No, kidding.” 

* * *

Coming back to the gates of Stark Pictures after weeks of avoiding it (not only because of his job, but because he’s afraid of being let down again) feels a bit surreal. It’s the same old crowd, the same old tittering excitement, and well, there’s also the same old spaz of a kid standing right up at the front. 

“Steve!” Peter greets him with a clap on the shoulder when the blond sidles up next to him. “I haven’t seen you in awhile, buddy. I thought you threw in the towel.”

“No, still pounding the pavement,” Steve says, getting a good look at the rest of the crowd, and in true Parker fashion, the kid steamrolls ahead and keeps on talking. 

“Sure, sure. That’s great. Me? I’ve been working everyday this week on a Sidney Landfield picture. Pretty exciting, if I do say so myself. A lot of frame wipes. Know what that is?” 

Steve isn’t listening all that much anymore, but he’ll at least humor the kid. “Sure.” 

“I walk right next to the camera, real close, and the director uses that to cut the scene together. I’m practically editing this thing—”

Steve wasn’t really talking, but Peter still shushes him nonetheless. “—Shut up, here she comes!” 

When Ms. Carter steps out, the crowd falls silent save for some excited chatter between folks. His eyes flicker over to her assistant, and Steve tries to stifle the grin that appears on his face when he sees that it’s Natasha, her ruby red lips impeccable and not a strand of fiery red hair out of place. 

“Okay. I need three warm bodies.” And suddenly, it’s pandemonium. Hands fly into the air as hopeful nobodies try their best to catch her attention, so they could be somebody. But Steve only has eyes on Natasha, who’s off to the side, her face coolly sculpted without a sliver of emotion showing. 

And Steve is still smiling, even when Ms. Carter doesn’t choose him. 

Peter, on the other hand, releases a heavy, disappointed sigh to his left. “Geez. I thought I was gonna get it. Wanna grab a bite to eat? My treat.” 

Steve watches as Natasha sidebars with Ms. Carter, his grin never leaving his face. “No, no. I think I’m gonna stick around,” he says, a bit distracted. He doesn’t hear Peter’s reply, because all he hears is Ms. Carter calling his name. 

“Steve?” 

Two sets of eyes turn to look at him, and Steve won’t admit to doing any posturing, but he does roll his shoulders back and lifts the corners of his lips into a bigger smile. He tries for a more charming look that doesn’t do much to change the look on Ms. Carter’s face. 

Peggy isn’t the least bit impressed with the kid’s theatrics, but if Natasha’s putting in a good word for him, he must really be a big deal. “Get in here, then. Come on.” 

Steve pounces for the opportunity and doesn’t think twice as he heads straight past the gates, quietly thanking the guard as he goes. 

“Whoa, hey. What, what’s going on?” Peter calls after him, face twisted with confusion. “Am I missing something here?”

“Oh, I, uh, I got a walk-on role in a Cecil B. DeMille picture. Might get a line! Hell, we’ll see if I get a screen test!” 

“Wait, but how? What?”

“Uh, I worked hard!” Steve quips, hoping the excuse will fly right over the kid’s head. And he sees that it lands, because Peter’s face just lights up, looking entirely impressed. “Hey, something’s gonna happen to you one of these days, Pete, I just know it!” He knows he’s laying it on pretty thick, and Nat’s staring at him, very amused—so she knows it, too—but Peter’s young and (very) naive. He likes the kid, so Steve’s gotta keep the dream alive for somebody else somehow. 

“You’re pushing it, Rogers,” Natasha mutters in a sing-song voice as they turn to head further into the lot, following Ms. Carter, who’s just a few paces away. 

Steve, in return, flashes her an angelic grin. He’s brimming with excitement, and all Natasha can do is roll her eyes at this big baffoon. 

“The more you look at me like that, the more I start regretting this. I talked Peggy into this, and I can take it all back, you know.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Ms. Carter—”

“Shut it.”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

“You’re a real charmer, Natasha.” 

She smirks. “I know.” 

* * *

“What does that mean, ‘sexually ambidextrous’?” 

“That means that Steve over here likes the cat _and_ the kitty.” 

“Huh. Never really thought about that.”

Steve doesn’t bat an eye at the conversation between Bruce and Theo, but he does flash them both a grin from where he’s just finishing up a tire rotation for a customer. He hasn’t really kept his sexuality a secret since he started working at the Golden Tip, and none of the fellas seem like they’re one phone call away from ringing up the police. Although, if he does overhear anybody else insinuating anything about his sexuality, he’ll go straight for the jugular. But he knows the fellas he worked with mean no harm—usually (Wade and Quill are a very unpredictable pair). They’re a tight circle of fellas turning tricks to get by, and as long as no one goes spilling the beans to the cops, everything’s going to be alright. 

A few weeks after being employed by Sam, Steve learns rather quickly that Golden Tip Gas is undeniably a far cry from the dark alleys by the docks he used to frequent when he needed some fella to get his rocks off. At the service station, he and the boys are pretty much the best-kept open secret in the business, and Steve doesn’t really mind it. Not anymore.

The bell dings overhead, and Steve stands from his crouch by the car’s tire, tossing a dirty rag into the sink. He glides past Bruce and Theo and greets them both with a playful salute. “Fellas.” 

He goes straight to the car that’s rolling in and sees a driver and a woman sitting in the backseat. He rests a hand on the roof of the car and leans towards the driver’s window. “Fill ‘er up?”

“Dreamland,” the driver says, straight to the point and leaving no room for arguments. Steve nods and opens the door to slide into the backseat next to the woman, and once he’s inside, nice and comfortably situated, the driver is pulling the car out of the station.

“Hello,” Steve greets the woman with a boyish grin, and he sits back to enjoy the ride. “How are ya?”

The woman smiles warmly in return. “Better now, thank you.” 

The driver takes them to a hotel a few miles down the road. It’s not as nice as the Beverly Hills Hotel, but it’s not like everybody has the kind of money that Tony has (and there he goes thinking about the other man again). The woman, who introduces herself as Lorraine, leads him into a typical hotel room, fit with a bed, and that’s really all he needs to get started. 

Steve notices Lorraine sticking a hand into her purse, and he is quick to stop her, “Oh, no, uh, I don’t touch the money, miss. I don’t know if anybody told you how it works, but you pay Sam and Sam pays me.” 

“Well, what about a tip?” Lorraine asks, already with a twenty-dollar bill in her hand. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed to start taking off his shoes. “You can just give it to me after, if you’re satifised. There’s really no pressure to do that, miss.” 

“But, wouldn’t this ensure that I’m satisfied?” She steps in between the V of his legs, making him pause in his movements, and her smile grows as she tries to entice him with the money she was holding.

He looks up at Lorraine, and then, down at her hand, where the twenty is just waiting to be plucked right out of her fingers. He doesn’t know what it is, but there is just something about this whole situation that feels… off, like something isn’t right. But ultimately, he doesn’t question it, not when he can get his hands on some extra cash on top of the hundred he’s already going to receive. 

“Okay, thanks.” He gives her a small grin and takes the money after a moment’s hesitation, and suddenly, the air changes, and it feels like he just walked right into a trap. 

Lorraine reaches for something else in her purse, and what she pulls out makes Steve’s heart stop. 

“You’re under arrest,” she declares, flashing her badge in his face.

“I’m— What?” 

“I got him!” She yells to no one in particular, but then, a cop comes barrelling into the room, handcuffs and gun at the ready.

“Wait, wait a minute, there must be some misunderstanding here.” Steve begins to panic as he rises to his knees, wild eyes trained on the gun, his hands in the air in surrender—though, he isn’t too sure what he’s surrendering for. “Whoa, buddy, buddy, what is this? What did I do?” 

He doesn’t even have time to think, before he’s told to shut up and is manhandled onto his stomach. The handcuffs are cold and heavy around his wrists, and Steve can only hope that he’s not stuck in the slammer for too long. 

“You’re under arrest for solicitation and lewd conduct,” Lorraine says, her sinister grin telling him everything he needs to know. 

Rough hands pull him to his feet, and Steve’s forced to walk out of the room and into the cop car that’s waiting just outside of the lobby. He’s got to be living some kind of joke, and just his luck, too. Sam warned him about the vice squads going all around Los Angeles, but he told him not to worry about any of that. Steve believed him and didn’t worry, and now, look where that got him, arrested and en route to the police station.

They get him through his mugshots and booking rather quickly, and before he knows it, Steve’s stuck in a dank cell with only the clothes on his back. He rubs his sore wrists and takes a look around the cell. There’s a bed, and a leaky toilet, and that’s just about it. The bed looks cold and uncomfortable, but it isn’t like he has any other choice. He sits down on the edge of it and just prays that Sam knows where he is and is working on getting him out of there as soon as possible. 

He waits long enough to fall asleep, and it’s morning when he’s startled awake by an officer coming over to his cell.

“Rogers. You made bail.” 

The sun hasn’t even risen yet when Steve steps out of the police station. 

“You know. When I told you to do your job, I didn’t mean that you should be going out and getting yourself arrested.” The tone of Sam’s voice is light-hearted, but there’s an undermining note of disappointment that Steve doesn’t think he likes. 

“What the fuck was that, Sam?” Steve’s running on nervous energy after spending an entire night in the slammer, and he struggles to button his shirt and fix his tie with trembling hands. “I was in there all night.” 

“Geez, calm down, will ya? I had to make a few phone calls and hand-deliver two hundred bucks to the police superintendent,” Sam explains calmly, a cool balm to the blond’s anxiety. 

“I’m an actor, Sam. A serious actor. You know I can’t have a record.” 

“Sure, you can. Ever heard of Frank Sinatra?” 

They climb into Sam’s car, and Steve doesn’t even look like he’s been assured. 

Sam heaves out another sigh. He doesn’t turn on the engine just yet. “Look, I’ve been arrested a bunch of times. Vice squads, they’re just part of the gig. The hypocrisy of it all…” He waves a hand in the air. “...It’s just what this town is built on, alright?” He looks at Steve. “Movies, they just wanna exploit an image of America that’s all wholesome and virtuous, right? But the folks making those movies…” He shakes his head with an amused snort. “Absolutely rotten to the fucking core. 

“You can’t keep walking around this place thinking nobody’ll do no wrong. That’s just part of the business, Rogers. We all do a whole lot of sinning here in the land of dreams.” 

And Sam just laughs, while Steve sits there, dumbfounded, the rumble of the engine soon following after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are like crack to me <3 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://goldentipjack.tumblr.com/)!


	4. quid pro quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve needs a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome back to Dreamland!
> 
> The last chapter was more of a filler, but in this chapter, you'll be getting a lot more Steve/Tony action and a lot more drama, and maybe we'll get to know who the hell Eddie Carbonell is?

Steve takes the day off after his stint at the police station, to Sam’s insistence, and uses that time to really appreciate his bed. He considers quitting his job at the service station for a brief moment, before he realizes the amount of money he’ll be missing out on if he does. He returns to the Golden Tip the following morning to a round of cheers and applause from the other fellas—which, frankly, isn’t the worst reaction he was expecting—but it’s enough to leave him entirely confused. 

“What, what’s going on?” He asks, looking at them with a bemused smile. 

Wade comes barreling towards him and throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders, giving him a couple shakes. “You got your first arrest, buddy. Now, you’re really part of the Golden Tip family!” 

Steve still looks confused (and perhaps, a little bit terrified), but Bruce swoops with one of his more gentle, less abrasive grins. 

“I’m sure you got the rundown from Sam. Pretty much all of us got caught by the vice squads in one way or another. It’s kind of like…” Bruce shrugs as he explains. “...earning your stripes, or something like that.” 

Steve is a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, but he still nods like he understands. “...Sure. Well, then, I’m gonna go ahead and get right to work. And I suggest you fellas do the same.” He gives them all a tip of his cap and breezes past them into the garage, ignoring the whoops and hollers from the other boys that follow him in his wake. 

Later, when the station’s bustling with activity, Sam swings by the garage and finds him elbows deep in work. 

“Hey, Rogers. You got a request.”

Steve rolls out from under the car and checks his watch with a furrowed brow. It’s half past eleven and a little too early for any of their regulars to come in. “Right now?”

“No, this evening.”

“Who’s asking?” Steve sits up and wipes his dirty hands with a rag. 

“Eddie Carbonell.” 

Steve clambers onto his feet, almost hitting his head on the way up, which earns him a laugh from Sam. It’s been weeks since his night with Tony, and just hearing that name almost gives him a heart attack. It’s not like he forgot about the man—he can’t imagine that ever being possible—but he just can’t picture Tony, Eddie Carbonell, whoever, asking for him when it’s been almost two months since he last heard from the man. 

“Whoa, there. There’s no need to be so eager.” Sam smirks. “You still have a few hours to go, buddy. You’re also gonna need a suit.” 

“Wait, uh. Shit. I can’t stay out all night. I got that screen test tomorrow morning, and I got— Sam. Sam!” 

Sam only gives the blond one last look, before turning on his heel to check on the other boys, and doesn’t leave room for any arguments and complaints. The man’s out of earshot before Steve can get another word in. 

“Fuck.” 

He clocks out later that day and heads home to freshen up. He finds his nicest suit buried deep in his closet and tugs it on after giving himself a much-needed shower. He fixes up his hair into a nice, golden swoop, and dabs some cologne onto his neck. He deems himself ready in the mirror and heads down to the lobby of his apartment building. Sam relayed him the message that Carbonell would be arriving to pick him up at a quarter to five, and the man doesn’t disappoint. 

The man’s car rolls up to the curb and Steve slides into the passenger seat with an easy smile. He takes one sweeping look at the man, and it’s Tony sitting in the driver seat, not whoever this Eddie Carbonell is. He just can’t picture himself reconciling the man he met weeks ago with the man who is as mysterious as they come. 

“It’s been awhile,” he says, in lieu of a greeting. 

Tony laughs, and boy, does he miss that sound. “It has. I apologize for keeping you waiting.” He’s wearing sunglasses again, but Steve doesn’t even have to imagine the warmth he knows is behind those dark lenses. 

Steve shakes his head, his smile widening. Weeks passed since their initial meeting, but it feels like they’re just picking up right where they left off. “I suppose you’ll just have to make it up to me tonight.” 

“Oh, I intend to.” 

They drive for quite some time, and the sun is already dipping low towards the horizon when they finally arrive at their destination. Tony tells him that they’re in Malibu, and Steve has never seen a stretch of ocean as incredible as this one. Sure, the beaches back in New York are nice—nothing can beat the beaches by Coney Island—but there’s just something about California beaches that really expels the kind of luxury Steve can only associate with this west coast state. And the long drive is almost worth it when Steve sees the magnificent ocean view the restaurant has to offer. 

“Wow.” 

“Impressive, isn’t it? I thought I’d treat myself to a nice dinner, and the company I’m with isn’t half bad.” 

They’re both seated at a table that overlooks the breathtaking view of the sunset, as per Tony’s request. The ambience is quiet, and only a few other patrons occupy the other tables in the room. It feels almost harrowing, being in a restaurant that clearly goes beyond his usual price range of burgers and milkshakes. Tony orders for them a bottle of wine, and when the waiter leaves to retrieve the bottle, Steve finally tears his gaze from the distracting view of the glimmering ocean to stare at the man sitting across from him. In the ambient lighting, Tony looks even more beautiful, the coffee hue of his eyes appearing even more golden in the soft candlelight.

It doesn’t take long for Tony to notice Steve’s staring, and the brunet looks up with a smirk. He folds his menu closed and leans forward on the table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “Tell me I’m pretty, Steve.” 

Steve, alarmed, looks a bit surprised by the forward request and glances around the room, but it appears that no one seems to have noticed. He acquiesces, a small, embarrassed grin on his lips. “You always look beautiful… You always smell rich.”

Tony laughs, pleased by his answer. “Maybe you’ll take me out dancing, later.” And Steve is absolutely certain he isn’t talking about the kind of dancing you do in a ballroom. 

The waiter comes back, displaying the bottle for Tony to see, and it seems like he approves, because the waiter’s pouring out two glasses of the deep red liquid. Steve isn’t really a wine guy. He prefers bourbon over anything to do the trick, but he’s not trying to turn down any kind of expensive alcohol. He stares down at the wine and starts sloshing it around in his glass, but he doesn’t have the same finesse as when Tony does it. 

“You’re supposed to drink it, you know. I’m not trying to poison you, sweetheart,” Tony remarks in amusement when he notices that Steve hasn’t taken a sip yet.

Steve looks up like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and smiles, all apologetic. “Sorry. I just— about the dancing. I got a screen test in the morning, so I really can’t stay out all night. This casting assistant’s really going out on a limb for me, you see. I’ve never even had a screen test before, and I’m really trying not to blow it—”

Tony chimes in, his eyebrow raised. “Where is it?” 

“Uh, Stark Studios.” 

Steve watches Tony's face pique with intrigue. He can see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, like he wants to laugh. 

“My father _is_ Stark Studios.” And it’s a joyless laugh when Steve actually hears it. 

Steve does a double-take, almost choking on the wine when he finally goes to take a sip. He quickly dabs his mouth with his napkin and clears his throat, laughing in disbelief. “What?”

“He’s in Paris right now, trying to buy back Wanda Maximoff’s favor to come back to Hollywood.” Tony dismissively waves a hand in the air, as if his father was only a nuisance to speak of and not the head of Stark Studios. “He comes back tomorrow.” 

Steve is enraptured, and he honestly cannot believe his luck. First, his run-in with Natasha, and now, this? Maybe the Golden Tip was his lucky break right from the beginning.

“So...” A grin slowly stretches across Tony’s face as he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of wine. He stares at him with the kind of bedroom eyes that make Steve’s skin light up on fire. “After dinner, you come home with me and take care of Daddy. And tomorrow…” 

A beat. 

“...He takes care of you.”

It’s a rather simple _quid pro quo_ , really, and Steve isn’t stupid. He knows an opportunity when he sees one. 

* * *

Steve is panting softly and has his head on Tony’s bare chest, the sheets riding low on their hips. The only light in the room, which reeks of sex, is the lamp on the nightstand. He doesn’t have to look at his watch to know that it’s late. He should be heading home right now to rest up before his very first screen test, but he doesn’t even think he has the heart to move anymore. Tony really wrung him out dry this time around. 

They lay there in comfortable silence as the aftermath of their coupling smolders with the last of its embers. Occasionally, he’ll hear the brunet exhale deeply, expelling a cloud of smoke as he burns through his cigarette, which he shares with Steve every now and then. The smoke is warm in his lungs, and it gives him a nice, delicious burn like the bourbon they shared in Tony’s living room. And it’s an expansive room, much like the rest of his house. The beachfront property is absolutely impressive, and it was a miracle Tony even managed to drag him away from the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the astounding picturesque view of the moonlit ocean. 

Steve knows Tony is a rich, powerful man. How, he figures, most likely has something to do with his father, which he now knows runs the very studio that produces the pictures he wants to star in. It’s peculiar how everything seemed to come full circle. But there is just one piece of the puzzle he can’t seem to figure it out. Who the hell is Eddie Carbonell? 

A warm chuckle pulls him from his thoughts.

“You’re thinking too much again. I thought I’d’ve fucked your brain into goo.” Tony smiles fondly and rolls over, now hovering over Steve. He leans down and starts kissing a line down the blond’s neck, tracing the trail he already left there with his tongue. “What’s got you doing mind gymnastics over there?” He murmurs between soft, petal-like kisses.

“I— I don’t know. I was just thinking about this conversation I had with a friend a while ago. It’s nothing,” Steve says, and he’s almost disappointed when Tony pulls away. Almost.

“It can’t be nothing if you’re getting lost in your mind like that, baby,” he purrs, inhaling another puff of smoke, which he blows into the air above them. He brushes an encouraging hand through his blond hair. He laughs softly. “Come on. Tell Daddy what you’re thinking. It probably can’t be that bad.” 

Steve idly slides up and down Tony’s side as he gathers his thoughts together. It’s notable that he doesn’t try to meet the brunet’s eyes. Tony says it might not be bad, but who’s to say that it isn’t? “Well, I…” He furrows his brow and hesitates, pausing for a moment. “Who’s Eddie Carbonell? Sam called you that a while ago, and I had no idea what he was talking about. I thought he was just out of his mind, but he seemed insistent that you were—or, well, are Eddie Carbonell. Tell me he isn’t just pulling my leg.” 

Tony feels as though someone has poured cold water all over him. He isn’t expecting Steve to ask him that at all. Frankly, he thought he was going to bring up something stupid, like the weather or some boring old show on the television. Just nothing like _that_. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, but he does roll back to his previous position, idly smoking his cigarette. Eventually, he gets out of bed, plucks the discarded silk robe off the floor and slips it on. He drops the smoldering butt of his cigarette into the crystal ashtray on his nightstand and walks over the large, bay windows, and his skin almost glows against the pale glow of the moonlight. He glares out into the ocean, arms crossed over his chest and eyes suspiciously wet. 

Steve would have been appreciating the soft glow of Tony’s skin if he hadn’t felt so confused. He finds it suspicious that Tony’s silent for so long, and he sits up, frowning. “Tony, what’s going on?” He asks, his voice quiet, but he’s met with another wall of silence. He doesn’t want to voice his thoughts, but they’re getting too loud, even for his own mind. “You’ve been lying to me?”

Tony shakes his head and huffs out a hollow laugh. “Baby, you’re a bit too naive, if you think no one’s ever lied in his town before.” 

Steve stares at his back, the scarlet and gold wrapped tight around the brunet’s body, like some kind of armor. He just doesn’t know what he’s trying to protect himself from. He startles when he hears him sniffle. He doesn’t expect to make him cry, and now, he’s alarmed.

Tony’s head is tilted up towards the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. It’s quite frightening how much he wants to cry, and Steve only asked a simple, innocent question. “It’s funny. You grow up thinking that Hollywood is full of the worst people, and then, you believe you’re destined to become one of them. And I did turn into one of them, at one point in my life. It just so happens that I ended up getting punished for it.” He turns around and shoves a finger in the blond’s direction, his laughter sharp and ugly on his tongue.

“But you. God. You— You’re fucking aggravating! I’ve never met anyone as geniune, as innocent, as, as naive as you are. Hollywood is an awful pool of nobodies, and they’re climbing over one another just fucking desperate to be somebody, but you… you’re too good. You’re too _nice_. You’re the first good man I’ve ever met in this town, you know? This town should’ve eaten you alive, Steve. It should’ve scared you off and made you run back to New York, but no. No, no, no. You just had to be somebody, you stubborn son of a bitch.” Tony’s losing steam, and when he does, a sob breaks from his throat. 

“A good person like you… you’re impossible to break. I can’t wrap my fucking head around it.” He startles when he feels a pair of strong arms wrap around him. He tries to pull away from Steve’s embrace, but he’s tired, and ends up melting into his arms without a fight. 

“Hey, hey... You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want,” Steve reassures him gently as they both sink to the floor. “I’m sorry I asked. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“God, don’t be sorry. And that’s the fucking thing, Steve. I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything. You’re one of the only people in my life who actually knows Tony Stark and gives a damn about who he is, and you’re just, just so goddamn genuine about it. I know this is a lie between us, but it’s a good lie because you help make it good with your… stupid virtuousity. It’s a good lie, and it’s supposed to be mine. Me. Tony Stark.” He shivers, letting out a soft gasp when he feels Steve begin to thumb away the tears on his face. He tries to separate himself from Steve, but Steve is insistent and refuses to give, locking his arms tight around Tony and giving him the support he needs to keep it together. 

“This is supposed to be mine,” he whispers into Steve’s bare chest as he clings onto him. “For the first time in five years, it was all mine. It was the one thing that I had, that Tony had, and I was desperate to keep it that way. But I guess…” 

Tony swallows thickly and bites down hard on his lower lip to stop it from quivering. He lets out a shaky breath and sniffles, absolutely disgracing the sleeve of his robe as he wipes his face clean of tears and snot. “Eddie Carbonell… It’s the name the rest of Hollywood knows me by. You can call it some bastardized version of a stage name, but it’s the only way my father could allow my return to the business. I told you about me, about what my father did, and how he did it. You know that whole story. I wasn’t lying about that.” 

A flicker of a smile appears on Tony’s face, but it doesn’t look right. He tilts his head back to look at Steve, and Steve just wishes he can make him look happy again. “You were awfully nice to me that first night we were together, and I couldn’t bring myself to lie to you. Not to a face as earnest as yours.” He reaches up and runs gentle fingers along his sharp jaw, his thumb just barely brushing against his lower lip. 

He sighs softly. “Tony Stark is the one who got caught at the molly house. Tony Stark got blacklisted from every picture house in the goddamn city. He’s the queer, the nobody, the shut-out. As far as the big players in Hollywood are concerned, Tony Stark is dead, and he didn’t even get a proper funeral. My father didn’t give anyone time to mourn. He just made sure the papers were paid well and the higher-ups paid even better, so they could keep their mouths shut. He made sure everybody forgot about him, forgot about the _mistake_ Tony was. If you ever hear about Tony Stark, it’s always coupled with speculation and conspirary theories, everybody wondering where he is and what he’s doing. 

“My father even got a coupla fellas to burn every single film reel that had my face on it and every single poster that bore my real name. And then, here comes Eddie Carbonell, roaring out of the ashes like a phoenix. And well—” He laughs, and it’s a sound Steve never wants him to ever repeat. “He’s alright in everybody’s book, ain’t he? He doesn’t have to pretend. He doesn’t have to hide. 

“Eddie Carbonell was the perfect ploy to make everyone turn a blind eye to the destruction that I almost caused to the Stark fortune. He was supposed to magically fix everything, and I guess, in some bizarre, messed-up way, that it did. Howard Stark lost a son that day, but he gained a new associate the next. Funny how life seems to work that way.” 

Steve tightens his arms around Tony when he hears his voice begin to quiver. 

“ _Fuck_.” Tony shuts his eyes and presses the heel of his palms to his face as he wills the tears to go away. “I’m sure you didn’t sign up for this when you joined Sam’s crew.”

Steve shakes his head. “No… I didn’t. But I’d still like to think we’re friends, and I’d hate to leave you like this… That’s not what friends do.” 

Tony shakes his head in disbelief and gives him an incredulous look. “See? That right there. You’re too nice. Anybody with a right mind would walk away right now. And you should. I’ll even pay you double, no, triple, for your troubles.”

“But why would I want to do that?” The question comes almost immediately, as if Steve can’t even fathom to hear Tony think so badly of himself. 

Tony stares at Steve for a long moment, his brows pulling together in confusion. Steve, good, earnest Steve, he realizes, is an enigma all on his own, and he can’t understand how a boy like that could even survive, let alone thrive, in Hollywood for as long as he has. 

“You confuse the hell out of me, Steve Rogers.” 

“Really? I thought I aggravated you.” He smirks. 

Tony rolls his eyes, though his lips threaten to break out into a smile. “I take back what I said. I’m paying you nothing. Zip. Nada. You disgust me.” 

“You didn’t say that a while ago.”

“Ugh. Horrible. Get out of my face.” 

Steve laughs as he proceeds to get a face full of Tony’s hand and playfully shoved away by the man. He holds him close just a little longer, squeezes him just a little tighter, just because he could, and eventually, after he’s had enough of Tony’s squirming, he lets him go. The floor, though surprisingly comfortable, isn’t the best place to hunker down for the evening. As he’s heading towards the bed, Steve watches as Tony makes his way over to his ensuite bathroom.

“I’m going to need to wash up. You probably think I look like a mess right now.” 

“Not really, no,” he says, not even beat later, as he stretches out on the messy sheets.

“You know. After all of that blubbering about you being the paragon of virtue, I don’t think you have the authority to lie to me.” 

“I’m not lying, though. I still think you look beautiful.”

Tony pauses at the door and turns to narrow his eyes at Steve, who only smiles, bright and charming, from his relaxed perch on the bed. 

“My ma taught me not to lie.” Steve shrugs, innocent as ever.

“Disgusting,” Tony retorts. The blond’s laugh follows him into the bathroom, and he can still hear it, even when he shuts the door behind him. 

Eventually, Steve will have to go home, but he’s perfectly content staying in Tony’s beachfront property, while the man is only a few feet away, freshening up in the bathroom. Reaching over to the nightstand, he picks up the watch he took off before they proceeded with their nighttime activities, and he sighs in disdain when he notices the time. It’s already nearing two o’clock in the morning, and he knows he should’ve already been home by now. He noticed a telephone in the living room somewhere, and he figures it isn’t too late to call up a cab. 

Steve hears the shower turn on, and he gets out of bed. He starts picking up the clothes they discarded all over the floor and tosses on a semi-complete outfit with his suit jacket hanging off his arm. He leaves the room and makes his way over to the rotary phone, lighting up a cigarette as he goes. He dials the operator, who directs him to a cab service line at his request. He asks for a cab to take him back to the city, and the man on the other end of the line tells him it’ll be about a half-hour wait. Steve doesn’t hesitate to agree, and he tells him the address of Tony’s home and sets down the receiver once the man gets all his information. 

He falls back into a nearby sofa, idly smoking the cigarette in his hand. It is some time before he hears the pad of bare feet walking lightly across the foor. 

“I didn’t think you’d leave so soon. Am I that unbearable?” 

Steve can hear the grin on Tony’s face, and he turns to see that he was correct. “I told you I had an early morning.”

“And I told you I had everything taken care of.” Tony heads over to the sofa and sinks down next to Steve to the point where he’s practically sitting on the man’s lap. He’s wearing a different robe this time around. It’s a nice, steely grey, and Steve can only imagine what he is—or rather, isn’t—wearing underneath. He slides his arms around the blond’s shoulders and brings him close for a kiss or two.

Steve rests his hands on Tony’s hips and hums at the taste of his lips, his mouth lingering against the brunet’s for a few moments. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he admits quietly. 

“You took care of me tonight, and I promised I’ll take care of you tomorrow. It’s going to be fine, Steve,” Tony murmurs softly against his lips, kissing him again and again. And slowly, their kisses begin to grow in intensity, an underlying note of desperation building like heat on the tip of his tongue. 

Steve hates the thought of pulling away. They’re only a few feet away from Tony’s bedroom and his expansive bed, or they don’t even have to make it to the bed. The sofa is just fine. But he knows there’s still a cab coming to take him home. “I, uh, I already got a cab.”

Tony absolutely does _not_ let out a petulant whine as he reluctantly releases his mouth from Steve’s neck. “Ugh, fine. But I’m still paying you triple for the night.”

“Tony, you don’t have to,” Steve sighs. 

“I know I don’t, but I want to. And before you say anything else, it’s my money, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it. So shush your gorgeous mouth, and expect a bump in your next paycheck.” 

Steve lets out a soft laugh and ultimately agrees, rolling his eyes at this ridiculous, eccentric man. “Fine, fine. Thank you for tonight.” 

“No, thank you,” Tony stresses, emphasizing it with another lingering kiss. He eventually releases him from his hold, and he ignores the disappointment that creeps into his chest when he watches Steve head to the front door. 

Before he leaves, Steve turns around to give Tony one last smile and a wave. It’s dark when he steps out of the door, but he doesn’t go too far, because Tony is suddenly there and grabbing a hold of his hand. He spins around in surprise and is taken aback by the arms thrown around his shoulders and the exuberant kiss that lands on his lips. 

“Kiss for good luck,” Tony explains, a bit breathlessly, when he pulls away. “Break a leg tomorrow, Steve.” He doesn’t waste anymore time, and he leaves just as quickly as he arrives, leaving Steve to stand there, bemused and a little starstruck. 

Steve is startled out of his daze by the loud car horn blaring through the evening air. He gives one more look to Tony’s front door over his shoulder and jogs down the winding pathway to the cab waiting for him at the curb. His heart is pounding in his chest, and his palms feel a little sweaty. His lips still tingle from the feeling of Tony’s lips against them. He isn’t entirely too sure what the hell that was, but it sure felt heavenly. 

“Good night?” The cabbie greets amiably when he slips into the backseat. 

Steve steals one more glance at the looming beachfront mansion and doesn’t try to hide the grin creeping onto his face. 

“Yeah.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are like crack to me <3
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://goldentipjack.tumblr.com/)!


	5. testing the limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does a screen test and finds a friend in Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi from Dreamland! 
> 
> I lost track of time and forgot to post the new chapter, but here I am, just a few days late. This is a bit of a filler chapter to fill your soul, but don't worry! The plot will thicken shortly. 
> 
> While the pandemic is still going on and stay-at-home orders are being lifted and Black Lives Matter protests are happening throughout the world, please remember to stay safe and continue taking care of yourselves and rest! This fic is all I can offer to you, but don't forget to keep fighting and keep the momentum going! 
> 
> Happy reading,  
> Leika

A ring blares, and Steve wakes up with a start.

His night with Tony lasted longer than he expected, and he didn’t get home until a quarter past three. That only gave him a few hours of shut-eye, and even less time to practice his lines the following morning. After that, he just kept on making a mess of his day when he had to race to the Stark Pictures after sleeping through his alarm. He’s just glad that he ended up making it to the lot in time, and he makes sure to say that to Natasha when she greets him at the gates, and by the look on her usually smooth face, she’s clearly not impressed with him at the moment.

“I thought you were serious about acting,” she says as they head to soundstage 11.

“I am. This, uh, this is just a one time thing. I won’t let it happen again,” Steve reassures her in a harried fashion that she doesn’t seem to like.

“You better not. ‘Cause this might be your only chance.”

“Sure.”

They don’t waste any time when they arrive at the soundstage. Steve is immediately shoved into a makeup chair and all dolled up for the scene. Thankfully, Natasha leaves him a cup of coffee to wake him up, because the Lord knows, makeup can only do so much to hide the dark circles beneath his eyes. The stakes are higher now, and all the pressure he hadn’t felt before now drops heavily onto his shoulders. He knows he has at least two people on his side, but maybe this is it for him. Maybe Ms. Carter’s been right all along. Maybe he is just a dime a dozen, destined to be a nobody like everybody else that tries their shot at fame.

Before he can lament his problems further, the director’s calling onto set. He drains the rest of his coffee and quickly gives his hair one brief comb-over, before he heads to where he’s supposed to go.

“Steve Rogers, screen test. Take one.”

He heads to his marker when he hears the slate go off, and when the camera starts rolling, Steve is moving on auto-pilot. He can barely remember what he’s saying now that he’s got the camera on him. He knows his mouth is moving, so he just hopes to God that he’s saying all the right words and all of them correctly. The rest of the screen test goes by in a blur, and soon, he is walking off the set, feeling as though he just had an out of body experience.

Steve returns to the makeup chair and barely registers the woman fussing over his face. He removes his costume, and he suddenly feels like plain old (nobody) Steve when he’s back in his own shirt and pants. He sighs at his reflection in the mirror and stands to leave. He checks his watch, and he notices that only half an hour had passed since he arrived at the lot. He doesn’t want to waste the rest of his day doing nothing, and he has a lot of time to kill before he has to head to work, so he ends up exploring the rest of the lot, even though he knows he shouldn’t. Eventually, he arrives at the commissary, and as a treat, buys himself a coffee. He even adds a bit more sugar than usual, because why the hell not? He might not find himself in a place like this ever again.

“Steve Rogers.”

He startles a bit when he hears his name in a familiar crisp, British accent, that he knows is none other than Ms. Carter’s. He looks up as she approaches his table. She looks like a woman on a mission. He noticeably straightens his back.

“I don’t know if I already properly introduced myself, but I’m Peggy Carter.” She smiles with the kind of authority that makes Steve stand up with lightning speed, causing him to almost knock over his coffee cup in the process.

His cheeks warm with embarrassment as he quickly rights the cup that nearly topples over. “Ms. Carter, I’m so sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be in here. I just wanted to see the place, so I got a cup of coffee. I can leave as soon as possible—”

She flashes him an amused grin. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Steve, we watched your screen test, and I have to tell you that it was absolutely horrendous,” she says, cutting straight to the chase. Her red lips are still stretched into a smile, and he can’t really bring himself to wonder why.

Steve cannot bear the bad news, and his face falls immediately with disappointment. Absolutely horrendous. Christ Almighty, he didn’t think he did that horribly to warrant that kind of reaction.

“ _However_ ,” she stresses when she notices the crestfallen look on the boy’s face, “with some training, and a lot of it, you might have something. So, Stark would like to put you on contract, $25 a week.”

With that said, it is as if Steve pulls an immediate one-eighty. A grin splashes onto his face, and he dwarfs her hand with both of his own, giving it a few excited pumps. “You’re kidding me. Thank you! Thank you, Ms. Carter. I won’t disappoint you,” he gushes, earnestly.

“But you still might, Mr. Rogers,” Peggy reminds him with a stern glint in her eye. “Only time will tell. But for now, if you’ll excuse me. I have an acting class to teach. Though…” she sighs. “I do suppose I was a tad bit wrong about the whole a dime a dozen thing, if you’ll forgive me. Just don’t do anything that will make me regret my decision.”

Steve firmly nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gives him one last pointed look, before she is heading off on her way. And there’s nothing in Steve that makes him want to disobey her.

* * *

Telling Sam that he was cutting his hours at the Golden Tip is not as bad as he thought it was going to be. Sure, the man does rib him about making him lose business, talking about how his Golden Boy wasn’t going to spend that much time at the service station anymore, but Steve can tell that he is proud of him. He just has an odd way of showing it.

Steve still spends some of his nights climbing into stranger’s cars whenever they request a trip to Dreamland, but by morning, he is out of the house and heading straight for Stark Pictures to start his day as a bonafide actor. Though, being on contract at the studio is not as glamorous as he thought it was going to be. Walking through the studio lot always feels like walking through a miniature city, bustling with people trying to get to quickly move onto the next thing.

Even though he has been around the lot for about a week or so, Steve hasn’t run into Tony in any shape or form. He knows the man works somewhere around here, so he figures he’ll see him at least every once in a while, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

He doesn’t want to admit that he misses him. Because if he does, he’ll also have to admit to himself the longing he feels every time he lays in bed thinking about his last night with Tony. He wishes he could feel his lips on his skin, his hands roaming all over his body. It is like a ghost’s touch whenever he imagines it. The people he slept with for the service station were nice enough, but they can never give him the satisfaction and freedom that Tony gives him. He longs, and longs hard, but he can’t put it past him if Tony never wanted to see him again. And after a rather heavy conversation like that, he wouldn’t be surprised.

At least for now, he has enough on his plate to distract him from the man he can’t stop thinking about. As Peggy recommended, he attends a number of classes to hone his acting chops, and he feels like he’s starting to do better. Or at least he hopes he does.

He is good friends with Natasha now, even if the circumstances of their first meeting were a bit unorthodox. He doesn’t mind it, and neither does she. Their friendship works (minus the sex), and that’s pretty much all that matters to him.

He finally gets the opportunity to see his screen test on the big screen—which is something only a small few have the privilege of ever seeing—thanks to her. Natasha sneaks him into the private viewing room during her lunch hour, and she even conjures, seemingly from nowhere, a bag of popcorn for them to share. As the lights dim and the reel starts its countdown, Steve is expecting something decent, despite Peggy’s warnings that it was horrendous, and he figures it can’t be that bad.

The reel ends, and he knows, deep in his heart, that Peggy was right. How can she ever be wrong? It was terrible, and Steve is absolutely horrified at what he just witnessed.

“Oh, god.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I sounded like that?”

“Yup.”

Steve groans and drops his face into his hands. His face is flaming, and he doesn’t know if he will ever recover after watching a monstrosity like that. “Mother Mary, pray for me.”

Natasha eventually pities him and consolingly begins to rub his back. “Oh, come on, Steve. You ended up with a contract in the end, so it counted for something? Plenty would kill for any opportunity like this.”

Steve makes another unintelligible noise. “I bet they never slept around for that kind of opportunity.”

“You’re being so dramatic.” She rolls her eyes. “No wonder you want to be an actor. But you know what I don’t get? I just can’t wrap my head around why you managed to be so bad. You scared the poor girl, Steve, yelling your lines like that.”

“Yes, Natasha,” Steve monotones sarcastically. “Please. Rub it in. This is exactly what I want to hear.”

She smiles amiably and gives him a few pats on the shoulder. “You’re getting better. At least, from what I’ve seen. The acting classes do help a lot.”

“I suppose.”

“And make no mistake, Peggy Carter knows what she’s doing,” she adds with a grin.

Steve doesn’t believe her, but he agrees anyway, with a shrug and a simple, “Sure.”

Natasha rolls her eyes again and stands, grabbing Steve’s arm and dragging him up to his feet. “Come on, you big lug. Buy me lunch, and maybe I’ll even consider burning the reel, so no one ever has to lay their eyes on that terrible piece of film ever again.”

“If you wanted to get me into bed so bad, all you had to do was ask.” Steve grins teasingly.

“Shut up, Rogers. Not everything’s about you. I’m just doing the rest of the world a favor.”

Laughing, they step out of the room and start making their way to the commissary for a late lunch, arm-in-arm. The studio is busy with activity, and Steve figures it has to do with the fact that Howard Stark returned to helm the studios with an iron fist about a week ago.

“I’m expecting a drink with my meal. You can’t going skimpin’ on me, now,” Natasha says as they breeze past a few golf carts and some large props being dragged across the set. 

“How do you even know I’ll have money to spend? Maybe I just brought enough to buy myself a coffee,” Steve counters, lifting an eyebrow. 

“Oh, please,” she smirks. “I know firsthand that that isn’t true.”

“Fair— Oh, beg your pardon,” Steve mutters when he suddenly bumps into someone as they near the commissary, and his heart lodges itself in his throat when he turns around and sees the very man he can’t stop thinking about standing right in front of him. He feels like a fish out of water when he sees him, and it seems like Tony is just as surprised to see him as well. Just when he thought he was never going to see him again, here he was, standing at the top of the steps like some kind of beacon. 

Natasha looks at Steve and is a bit surprised to find the man starstruck by the newcomers' presence. Odd. 

“Why, hello, Steve Rogers. Natasha.” Peggy appraises them both with a smile. “Let me introduce you to Eddie Carbonell.” It’s the second time he hears someone call Tony by his stage name, and for a brief moment, Steve is caught off-guard. He rights himself, quickly enough, and takes the man’s hand to give it a brief shake. It’s oddly professional, and it just feels so wrong.

Tony’s eyes are veiled by a pair of dark sunglasses, and it is strange to see him so guarded, when Steve has already seen him in bed, vulnerable and writhing with want and desire—but he can’t think about that right now, not when there are two other unsuspecting parties in their presence. Steve clears his throat and lets go of his hand when he realizes he’s been holding it longer than necessary. He swings his attention back to Peggy and attempts to smother his discomfort with a smile.

“Mr. Carbonell is our head technician for Stark Pictures,” she clarifies. “He handles a lot of the studio’s equipment and makes sure they’re all in tip-top shape.”

“How do you do, Mr. Carbonell?” Steve asks, and the name does not feel right on his tongue. His mouth goes dry as if it were suddenly filled with cotton.

“Fine, thank you,” Tony answers, smiling warmly, but it pulls at Steve in such a peculiar way. And he can’t figure out why. Steve just wishes he could know what he was thinking. He can usually read Tony like a book, but when he’s wearing those sunglasses, he can’t even comprehend a single word.

“Well, now that you’re acquainted. We better be off, right, Eddie?” Peggy calls out to him. Her brow furrows slightly at the sight of him. She has never seen him so shaken. “Eddie?”

Tony startles out of his gaze and nods when he hears his name the second time. Clearing his throat, he straightens his jacket and hops down the steps to follow Peggy. “Right, right. Yes, sorry.” he mumbles apologetically as he goes.

Once they are out of earshot, Natasha turns to Steve, eyebrow raised and her lips pulled into a slight smirk. “Well, that was a bit odd, don’t you think?”

Steve watches them disappear around the corner, and with a frown, he slowly continues up steps with Natasha in tow. “Yeah… yeah. I guess so.” He pauses when he feels a hand on his arm.

“Hey. You alright, Steve?” Natasha asks, brows furrowed with concern.

Steve seems to snap out of it rather quickly, and he flashes her grin. “Yeah, of course. I’m great. Come on, I’m supposed to be buying you lunch.” He pulls her along into the building as he forces thoughts about a man in dark sunglasses and a smart suit to the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos give me +1 serotonin <3 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://goldentipjack.tumblr.com/)!


	6. two sides, one coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony are two sides of same coin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I know. It's been awhile, but a recent comment on this story from a couple days ago helped light that spark to actually post something LOL. So let me just welcome you back to Dreamland, and I hope you enjoy this chapter :-)

“Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“What was what about?” Steve shoots back, instantly feigning indifference. 

“Don’t play coy with me, Rogers. There was something going on between you and Carbonell out there.” 

They are settled at a table inside the commissary now, each helping themselves to a nice plate of chicken and potatoes. True to his word, he pays for both meals, and even splurges on coffees for the both of them. Though, it is rather clear with their current turn of conversation that Natasha did notice what the hell was going on between him and Tony—er, Eddie. But Steve can play the long game. 

“There’s nothing going on. You’re probably just seeing things,” he says easily, dabbing a few dashes of salt to his chicken before slicing himself a piece. 

Natasha narrows her eyes at him, her lips slightly downturned into a frown. She stares at him, long and hard, gauging him. There’s something there that Steve isn’t telling her, and she is determined to find out. 

“You’re losing precious lunch time with all that staring, you know,” he quips. Steve doesn’t even have to look up to see the look on Natasha’s face. He knows that with her gaze and all that she’s suspicious, but he doesn’t give in, not that easily. 

“Fine,” she relinquishes, toying a piece of potato with her fork. Then, a flicker of an idea pops into her head. “But…” A smile begins to slowly curl at her lips. “If you still want me to get rid of your screen test, I think it’d be best that you tell me.”

Steve looks at her with narrowed eyes, completely affronted. “I thought you’d be above blackmail.”

“You know I just like seeing you squirm.” Natasha grins, red lips stretched across her face, sickeningly sweet. 

“You’re crazy.”

“The best women are,” she points out. 

As much as he doesn’t want to tell her, as much as he wants to keep this secret close to his chest, Steve knows she’s a woman of her word. She’s proven it time and time again when she manages to steer him into Peggy Carter’s line of sight. He can tell her another lie, but he just knows Natasha is smart enough to see right through him. He sighs and glares at the piece of chicken speared on his fork. “He, uh…” He clears his throat. “I met him at work.”

The statement is inconspicuous enough that it doesn’t give too much away—no one around them won’t be able to tell, anyway—but he knows in the way that Natasha’s eyebrows climb past her hairline and her smile loses its amusement, she understands almost immediately. She has already seen him at work, both clothed and unclothed, so it isn’t hard for her to figure it out and put two and two together. The Golden Tip has been known within tight circles to service a handful of rather powerful people. Allegedly. 

The topic would have been done and over with if Tony hadn’t been a man. No one bats an eye when a woman goes to the Golden Tip, but when it happens to be a man… it is an entirely different story. 

And it’s incriminating enough that Steve has admitted to meeting a man there. Especially someone as notable as Eddie Carbonell. 

Natasha pauses and puts down her cultery for a moment. “Ah. I see.” 

The two sit in awkward silence, and Steve picks up his coffee cup to give his hands and mouth something else to do. He’s taking a huge leap of faith, telling this to Natasha, and he prays that she doesn’t think bad of him. She’s pretty much his only friend around here, and it is nice to have someone on his side. 

Eventually, after a few beats of silence, Steve bites his lip and shifts his worried gaze to the woman sitting across from him. “You won’t— You won’t tell anyone about this, right?” 

Natasha appears earnest for once, and she reaches across the table to cover his hand with her own, smiling at him kindly. “Don’t worry, Steve. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

\---

“I’d ask what that was about, but I know you aren’t going to tell me.”

“And once again, you are correct.” He flashes her grin. 

When they are finally in the privacy of Peggy’s office, Tony makes a beeline for the dry bar and pours himself a much-needed drink. Regaling from England, Peggy always has the best stuff at hand. He hears her sigh behind him, and the sound is colored with disappointment. But that still doesn’t stop him from adding another finger or two of Scottish whisky into his tumbler. 

“I thought you said you’d stop drinking, darling.” Her voice grows softer as she watches him drain his first glass, and her disappointment and concern only grows when he goes and pours another helping of liquor. “What’s going on, Tony? You lock yourself in your workshop, and I don’t hear from you for almost a month. Virginia tells me that you’re on one of your benders, and I suppose she isn’t wrong.” She eyes the crystal and amber in Tony’s hands and walks over to him to pluck it right out of his hold. 

Tony watches in horror as she pours the perfectly good whisky into a potted plant. “You know, that plant’s not going to appreciate that as much as I would’ve.”

“Oh, is that so?” She lifts an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You’re already in your thirties. I think it’s about time you stop acting like a child and start acting like the adult you’re supposed to be. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to face whatever you’re dealing with head on. You can’t keep locking yourself up in your workshop when things start going south.” 

He thinks of golden hair and strong hands, but he quickly pushes those thoughts to the side. He shrugs, falling to the couch and lazily stretching himself across it. “Why? It’s been working out for me so far.”

“Anthony,” Peggy stresses, asserting her authority. 

“Margaret,” Tony answers back flippantly as he pulls out a cigarette from the case he procured from his suit jacket and lights it up, already checked out of the conversation.

Peggy presses her lips together and closes her eyes as she takes a calming breath, before she starts wailing on the man. “You are absolutely insufferable. Why do I even bother?” She heavily sighs. 

“Because you love me,” he says, smirking around a puff of smoke.

“Unfortunately,” she grumbles as she heads to the door. “I’m bringing in Virginia.”

“What, why?” 

“If I can’t get through to you. Surely, someone who knows you best will.” 

When Peggy leaves the room, and Tony’s glad to find some kind of reprieve by himself, but not even a few minutes after her departure, he hears the door open and close a second time. 

“Are you here to tell me that I’m acting like a child, too?” Tony quips, loudly exhaling a cloud of smoke. And true to her word, he sees Pepper standing at the door. He knows she’s disappointed in him. A lot of people are today, it seems.

“Peggy’s only saying that because she cares about you.” 

Tony feels the couch dip beside him, but he can’t even bring himself to look at her. “You know, we do a hell of a lot of caring around this place. What happened to not caring? To being indifferent to each other? Honestly. That used to work for everyone, especially for my father.” 

Pepper sighs softly. “Tony. You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know what I mean,” he shoots back, and frankly, he’s a bit tired of people assuming what he’s feeling. He can’t have anything for himself, now can he? He can’t even have his own life back without people hounding on him the minute he goes and actually does something for himself. 

Pepper tries a different approach. “Where have you been?” She asks, voice soft and gentle, a sharp contrast to the rough and abrasive tone Tony has recently adopted. 

“Where do you think I’ve been?” He scoffs, sucking in another deep breath from his cigarette. He lets the smoke burn his throat and fill his lungs, before exhaling slowly. 

“I know you weren’t in your workshop the entire month you went AWOL, so let me ask this again, and I want you to answer it truthfully, because frankly, I love you, Tony, but I’m starting to get sick and tired of your lies. Peggy and I, we’re worried about you. So please tell me where you’ve been,” Pepper stresses. She is getting antsy now. All she wants is a straight answer from Tony for once. Ever since she met the man, the both of them in their early twenties, she has learned a lot about him and his mannerisms. Tony Stark is a difficult nut to crack, but she cares for him deeply and has been chipping away at his tough exterior ever since their first meeting.

Tony stubs out his finished cigarette into a nearby ashtray and fishes out another one from his cigarette case. He takes his time lighting it up, and he uses the much needed quiet to silence his thoughts. “The service station,” he answers with a smooth exhale of smoke that slowly fills the room.

Pepper’s eyes widen with recognition, and they flash with a wave of emotions, mostly worry and fear. “You know you’re not supposed to be back there. You’ll get caught, and, and, what’s going to happen when we can’t save you?”

“Pep, you’re overreacting.” 

“No, Tony. You’re  _ under _ reacting.” 

Tony waves a dismissive hand in the air, a bit of ash from his cigarette falling to his pant leg. He quickly brushes it off before it leaves a mark. “I’m not going to get caught, Pepper. Sam and the boys are taking real good care of me. They’ve made sure everything stays quiet so far, so there’s no need to worry about it,” he is quick to reassure her.

“No need to worry about it?” Her voice starts to rise, but she is quick to catch herself. Pepper lowers her voice to a hushed but harried whisper. “Tony, are you out of your mind? Do you know how much you’re risking showing up at a place like that?” 

“Do you think I don’t fucking know that?” Tony hisses, brows drawn into a glare. He immediately stands with buzzing energy and makes his way over to the dry bar to replace the liquor he had to watch Peggy lay waste into an unworthy plant. “Try being in my shoes for once. Just imagine pretending to be somebody you’re not just so you can stay alive. I’ve lived my life as somebody else for, for eight years already, and guess what? It’s fucking exhausting. Do you understand how insane that is? I had to  _ die  _ to be where I am today, Pepper. Tony Stark had to die so Eddie Carbonell could live, and maybe… maybe Tony’s been on the backburner for so long that I was starting to forget the amount of freedom I felt when I was with a man.”

He whirls around to face Pepper, his brown eyes ablaze with fury. Fury, that he has kept buried deep inside of himself for far too long. 

“So for  _ once _ in my life, why couldn’t I have something for myself?” 

He hates the way Pepper is looking at him, like he’s something sad, like he’s somebody to pity. But he doesn’t move when she walks over to him and pulls him into her arms. She embraces him, gentle but strong, while he remains stiff, refusing to return the hug. 

“God, Tony… I didn’t know,” she murmurs into his hair. 

Tony shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to let the whole world know. They’re my problems, and I don’t need to dump them on you.”

“No,” she says firmly as she tighthens her arms around him. “I  _ want _ you to tell me things.”

“Why, so you can go ahead and tell my father?” He mumbles into her shoulder. 

“You know I never did that, and I never will,” she promises. “He’s pressured me plenty of times to spill any information about you, but you and I both know that I’ll be caught dead before I ever tell Howard Stark the truth.”

Tony sighs, a sound of relieved laughter falling from his lips. He lets himself sink further into Pepper’s embrace, and he finally lifts his arms and wraps them around her waist, hugging her fiercely in return. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Tones.” She gives him one more squeeze, before releasing him. “How about this? We get out of here and go for a drive, and head down to Apple Pan for burgers and milkshakes.”

Tony shakes off the rest of his worries, and a smile, though small, appears on his face. “Have I ever told you how much I love you, light of my life?”

Pepper rolls her eyes, smiling fondly. “Everyday for the past five years.”

“Good. I don’t want you to forget.” 

“How can I? You’re an unforgettable man.”

Tony winks, before replacing his sunglasses and taking her hand. “And you, my dear, are an incomparable woman.”

\---

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

They pile into his car, with Tony in the driver’s seat of course, and head down the boulevard for a much-deserved meal of hamburgers and milkshakes. They’re driving down the highway towards their destination when Pepper lowers the stereo and turns in her seat to face him. 

“I actually thought for a moment that you wouldn’t end up interrogating me.”

“I had to get you to talk somehow.” Pepper smiles. “And I’m not interrogating you. I didn’t even ask you a question. It was more of a statement.”

“Technicalities.” Tony peers over the rim of his sunglasses and quickly glances at her. “You’re a cruel woman, Pepper Potts.” 

“I know you believe that isn’t true.” 

“I do. Absolutely. It’s the one truth I’ll always stand by,” he proclaims, hand on his heart.

“Uh huh. Sure.” She laughs, turning her head to watch the scenery go by. A moment of silence passes, and she looks back at Tony. “You’re really not going to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You know I was planning to, but since you were being cruel to me, I don’t think I’m gonna.” 

“Tony,” she sighs. Her gaze softens as she looks at the man she spent most of her adolescence with. She could have fallen in love with him in another lifetime, if their needs and desires weren’t so different. 

“What?” 

“Come on. I want you to be serious for once.”

“I  _ am _ being serious.”

“ _ Tony _ ,” Pepper tries again, “I’m trying to be your friend here, and all you’re doing is pushing me away.” She watches as his face transforms as if he’s eaten something sour. And though his eyes are trained on the stretch of road in front of them, she knows she is somehow getting through to him. “I just want to understand what’s been bothering you… You haven’t spoken to me in a month, and suddenly, you’re back at work, acting like nothing happened.”

The silence returns for the next few moments, and Pepper keeps an eye on him, staring at his face for any flicker of emotion. 

A beat. “I met someone,” Tony finally utters. 

Pepper’s face softens with a gentle, reassuring smile. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Tony bites his lip, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He has tried his best to keep a hold of himself in this predicament, but he has been slowly unraveling at the seams as the weeks go by. Seeing Steve at the lot earlier that day only made him unravel even faster. 

“What’s his name?” She asks when Tony doesn’t say anything else. 

Tony hesitates again, but he glances at Pepper out of the corner of his eye and only sees the woman who has been encouraging him to love who he wanted to love since the very beginning. He probably wouldn’t even be walking on this earth if it weren’t for her love and support. 

“Steve.” His lips involuntarily curl into a smile when he says his name. “He, uh… He’s the one I met at the service station.” He looks over at Pepper to gauge the expression on her face. Her face is shuttered. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ . But Pep… He really is something. I don’t think I ever met a man like him before.” 

Pepper looks at him for a long moment. “I know you might think he’s not be like the others, but—”

“He isn’t—”

“ _ But _ ,” she cuts him off. “You need to be careful about this one, Tony,” she warns. “Remember Tiberius? You said the same thing about him, and look where that got you.” She hates bringing him into the conversation, but she’s grown overprotective of her friend. She can’t risk this Steve fella being the same kind of man that Ty Stone was and still is. 

Tony clenches his jaw and glares out the windshield when he’s suddenly reminded of the man who ousted him to the rest of the world. He’s still bitter that the man still roams around town, completely scot-free. “Then, what do you think I should do? Ignore him?” 

“You don’t have feelings for Steve, do you?” The question is heavy, and it hangs between them for a long moment. The long pause doesn’t sit right with her. 

They are at a red light, and Tony momentarily locks eyes with Pepper, who raises a questioning eyebrow at his lack of an answer. The light turns green, and he steps on the pedal, making a right into the parking lot of the burger joint. 

“No. I don’t.”

Pepper stares at Tony for any change in his expression, but his face is smoothed over into the perfect poker face, which she’s been afraid of. 

“Okay,” she relents. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments give me life! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to yell at me on tumblr at goldentipjack.


	7. interlude; death of a sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life and death of Tony Stark; an interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Dreamland! This is the chapter where things start coming into the limelight, so to speak. Maybe this will answer some questions that needed to be answered (or not - who's to say?).
> 
> This chapter brings up period-typical homophobia, talks of death, and involves Howard's A+ parenting. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The birth of Eddie Carbonell wasn’t by far a happy one.

Pepper, mostly known to the rest of the country as Virginia Potts, starred opposite him—that is, Tony Stark, not Eddie Carbonell—in a number of films for Stark Pictures and a few other studios around Hollywood. The town immediately took notice of the gorgeous starlet with the kind eyes and even kinder smile, and soon, the press quickly capitalized on the idea of Virginia Potts and Tony Stark being together. Howard, mindful of his son’s strong tendencies towards the same gender, was the mastermind of the whole entire operation. He sold countless stories of Virginia and Tony to the press, feeding them lie after lie, to make sure they kept off his tail, and it did work. For a while. 

The two young rising stars had no other choice than to follow orders, and they were seen together, pictured together, everywhere they went. Eventually, their fake relationship blew up into the real deal Hollywood love story that everybody seemed to envy. They looked like a happy couple, _the_ perfect couple, and Howard, above all else, was pleased at the outcome of his little experiment. 

Pepper knew about Tony back then, and damn well tried her best to make sure Tony was safe to love who he loved. She kept her mouth shut when Tony left their home for the molly houses and came back in the early hours of the morning, reeking of sex and mens’ cologne that she knew wasn’t his. His father would try and coerce her many times into revealing his son’s secrets, but she never said a word. 

While she became his sole confidante, she flew up the ranks at Stark Pictures to become the studio’s most beloved actress and a household name all across America. Tony wasn’t too far behind her, and they were soon known as America’s sweethearts. 

Not one day went by that Tony entered the public realm without Virginia on his arm. Howard continued to feed the press mill, ensuring they were always happy and fed with the latest gossip, so that no one started pointing any fingers. 

But then, it all came to a head when the press got a hold of the juiciest story of them all. 

They were in Howard’s office—Peggy, Pepper, Tony, Howard, and Edwin, the Stark family’s lawyer—when they read the headline that had been splattered all over Hollywood.

_Tony Stark, a Homosexual!_

The women in the room tried to keep things civil, but a screaming match ensued between father and son, and it quickly escalated, much to Peggy and Pepper’s chagrin. Glasses were thrown, purposefully miscalculated to hit the wall behind their heads and enough to exude warning and hatred, and the floor was quickly riddled with broken crystal. It was decided then, that Tony Stark was to be swiped completely out of the public eye. No other exceptions. 

Tony hated his father before, but now, he absolutely despised him with a burning passion. 

“If you wanted to kill me, all you had to do was pull the trigger yourself,” he spat out angrily at the man. “Oh, wait. You’d just get your lackeys to do the job for you. Don’t want your hands getting dirty with your son’s blood, right? 

“Do you want to keep living your life with a target on your back?” Howard argued, his anger a low rumble to his son’s blazing fury. He stood like a volcano, just waiting to erupt. 

“If that means I get to love who I love, then yes. I would do it, no question,” Tony said, glaring at his father. 

“The studio’s already receiving death threats because of your little stunt.”

“Oh, wow. Okay. Yes, keep complaining about the reputation of your precious movie studio.” Tony scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “Of course you’d care more about Stark Pictures than your own damn son. Of course! How does that feel? Being more concerned about how much I’ll ruin this place, when my life’s probably ruined already. You can’t even stop thinking about yourself for one goddamn minute—”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” his father snarled with warning, spittle flying in the air. 

But Tony didn’t back down. In fact, he grew taller, standing his ground. “You’re one heartless-” He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling at his sides. “- _motherfucker_.” 

“Why, you little bitch—!”

“Boys!” Peggy’s voice cut through the tension. “I should advise that the both of you calm the hell down. We won’t get anywhere, if you two end up killing each other.” 

“That’s what he wants, isn’t it?” Tony retorted. 

“ _Anthony_ , please,” Peggy scolded.

Tony didn’t say anything else, and instead, turned a blind eye to the other people in the room. He stood from his perch beside Pepper to retrieve a bottle from the dry bar. Since all of the glasses had been conveniently shattered, he simply unscrewed the cap and took a few long gulps straight from the bottle. 

The elder Stark only glared at his son from across the room, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He had all the money and power to change the tides with a snap of his fingers, and he did so to make sure his precious company didn’t tank to the ground. “God, look at him. He doesn’t even care,” he groused. “We’re killing this story, and that’s final.” 

“Then, what am I supposed to do?” Tony asked, swinging his bottle around. “Am I supposed to just go off to the middle of nowhere and live my life as a hermit?” He snorted as he took another swig and added with a mutter, “But you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Howard grumbled in anger. 

“You won’t have to do that, Tony. If I, uh, may suggest something,” Edwin interjected softly, looking between the other four in the room. He had been a quiet spectator throughout the entire exchange, and he knew a thing or two about the two Stark men, as their family’s lawyer. He had seen anger and destruction confined in one small space many times before. From the many years working for the Stark family, he knew that Howard and Tony, put together, were a time bomb, and this very exchange was when it finally exploded. 

All four pairs of eyes turned to Edwin Jarvis, and it was at that moment that he began to concoct the plan that would continue on for the next five years or so. Tony wouldn’t die, not physically, only just the thought of him, and wasn’t that a trip? From then on, he was to adopt his late mother’s maiden name, Carbonell, and use his middle name, Edward, for his new moniker—at least he would still have something that is his. The next few days, Jarvis went to great lengths to retrieve forged documents and all the paperwork Tony needed for his new identity.

Soon enough, he was reborn. And Edward Carbonell was what they christened him. Eddie, for short. They changed his name, but they also suggested he change his look, too. So he agreed to cut his hair and lighten it up from his usual dark locks to a lighter shade of brown. He grew in a mustache as well, and he looked like an absolute monstrosity with that caterpillar on his lip. He also added sunglasses to his wardrobe, and they became such an extension of him that no one ever saw him without them. 

In just a matter of days, Tony died quietly overnight, Eddie took his place, Stark Pictures remained afloat, and the breaking story that had been circulating various newspapers was wiped completely off the face of the earth. But Eddie didn’t make his debut into the world until he was appointed as the studio’s head technician the following month, and Howard regaled his triumphs as a graduate from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to make his sudden arrival appear more sound and foolproof. At first, it was difficult to fall into the new rhythm as a nobody, but he was easily swayed by the opportunity to not have to worry about the things that Tony Stark used to worry about. The publicity, the limelight, the fame—it was all gone in a blink of an eye, now that he was Eddie Carbonell. 

Tony wasn’t there when Howard asked a few friends he knows to burn his films and everything that had his name on it—every poster, pamphlet, photo, newspaper, magazine. Later, he would find out that Howard also destroyed the number of movies he starred in with Pepper. They would be forever lost to time, and Tony would always despise him for it. In his father’s attempt to save his career, he ruined Pepper’s as well, and Tony would never forgive him. 

They didn’t give him a funeral, either. Pepper insisted that they did, just out of respect, but Howard shot down the idea just as quickly as it was brought up. He told them that he didn’t want to bring anymore attention to Tony, but Tony knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He knew Howard just didn’t want to be caught mourning the death of his queer son. People talked a lot in this town, and Howard thought too highly of himself to have anything—even his own son’s homosexuality—to tarnish the perfect facade he had built for himself. 

Tony wasn’t blind. He knew his father was only doing all of this so Stark Pictures was still the top movie studio in all of the West Coast. Howard Stark never cared about his son. He only ever cared about the way the rest of Hollywood perceived him. The conceited bastard. 

If only his Mama could see him now. He liked to think she was probably somewhere in heaven, looking down at the mess he had put himself into. _Oh, my sweet tesoro, what have you done?_ She would whisper into his ear. He wanted to know what she thought of him, of Howard. He wanted to know what she would do in this situation, if he was even doing the right thing succumbing himself to this level of secrecy. 

Or maybe he could just go ahead and ask her. He was dead, anyway. 

Tony Stark lost his notoriety as the face of Stark Pictures, but he quickly became a thing of legend. People from all over the town, and eventually, the entirety of the U.S., were quick to speculate his whereabouts. Some said he disappeared into the mountains to live a life of solitude. Others believed he was still in town, throwing away his fame to live as some normal civilian. Though, there were few conspiracists who thought he was somehow connected to the mob and was quietly killed because he owed them some money. 

The rumors that circulated Hollywood made him laugh on numerous occasions, but these surely took the cake. And according to Howard, they were a necessity. The man himself even fed these lies into the rumor mill but never once said that the star was dead.

Eddie roamed the lot of Stark Pictures for the next three years, while Tony stayed behind, six-feet underground. It took him some time to get used to the new identity. He spent almost half of a year stumbling over his words and getting used to the fact that people called him Eddie now, but he quickly got the hang of it to the point where he embraced the role of Eddie Carbonell wholeheartedly. 

But when the war landed on American soil at the end of 1941, Tony figured (rather selfishly) that he didn’t mind being dead. When the whole country was called to arms, he didn’t go to the frontlines like the other men. Instead, Howard kept him hidden and sent him to work at a weapons manufacturing facility, under the watchful eye of Obadiah Stane, one of his father’s associates. 

The Stark family’s ties with the U.S. Military ran deep throughout history, and even if Howard was running a very successful movie studio, he was still lending a hand to the war effort when it came to giving every soldier a weapon to wield on the battlefield. Tony wasn’t sure how talkies and weapons were related; they were not even remotely similar. But the young Stark was part of the business now, and there was no room for questions, which Stane gruffly reminded him time and time again.

The facility was busy work. While Stark Pictures continued to pump out movie after movie to boost civilian morale, Tony spent all of his time assembling weapons and designing machines that would be eventually sent overseas to the Western Front. The radio at his station was his only connection to the war’s current happenings, and he could only imagine the horrors the young soldiers had to face when they set foot in enemy territory. He often thought, _Thank god, that’s not me_ , and he knew he was selfish. It was tough to sleep at night, when he should have been sent to the frontlines, like the rest of them. But of course, Howard didn’t want to risk it. 

And when the war finally came to a close and thousands of American citizens flock to the streets to celebrate, the memory of Tony Stark eventually faded into the background, becoming the topic of Hollywood lore for the years to come. 

He was 25 when he died, and there were only a few people who actually know that it ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are love <3


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